


even death is a shadow of forgetting

by redcheekdays



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10629933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcheekdays/pseuds/redcheekdays
Summary: A retelling of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 6, wherein someone bothers to tell Faith that Buffy died.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt at the beginning of this chapter from [In the Unlikely Event of the Apocalypse](http://themissingslate.com/2016/06/29/unlikely-event-apocalypse/) by Natalie Wee.

_We will not recall events beginning with a curled eyelash  
& ending in grocery lists of what we could have done_

_differently. You may go by a different name in a new city  
wear a life carved out in the shape of my absence_

_or make a bed with someone else.  
But when the alarm sounds I will cross every border,_

_skip every checkpoint & dodge all bullets in memory  
of what we would once have done to discern_

_the exact form of desire. I will come to you, gasping  
& dry-mouthed as before, wearing the future around_

_my neck._

(BARGAINING)

Faith wakes suddenly in her cell from a terrible dream. A bright light lingers on the edges of her vision for a few moments as the rest sinks into her: light, a path in the sky, a reward, a welcome. Then Dawn, hobbled, crying at the sight of something Faith can’t quite see.

Buffy’s voice. _Be brave. Live. For me._

Faith has only had two other visions. One came when she was too young for it to have been anything but a nightmare, watching a pretty girl in a fancy dress drown in shallow water, a monster looming over her. The other featured a monster of a different sort: an entrancingly beautiful woman, swaying side to side before slitting another girl’s throat.

She didn’t watch anyone die in last night’s vision, but Faith has no illusions that this was just a dream. The weight of other people’s grief weigh tangibly on her shoulders.

She lives with it, the way she’s lived with a hundred other bad feelings that refuse to roll off her back, despite her efforts. She’s in prison, where she belongs. She lives with it.

##

A few days later, she gets a visitor. She expects Angel, and gratitude floods through her. It's been awhile since he came.

It's a shock to see Wesley instead. His face is wary, serious; she's not sure what her own is betraying. Wesley wouldn't come to see her, not after –

He wouldn't come, not for Faith.

She sits down, picks up the phone. "Is Angel ok?"

Wesley's eyes are keen through the glass that separates them. He looks shabbier than she remembers; worn around the edges, his shoulders more bowed. He takes his time, and his response is measured. "Angel is alive. He's gone – left the city."

A thrill of premonition suddenly shivers up Faith’s spine. She grips the phone tightly, already knowing what’s coming.

“I'm here about Buffy. She's dead."

"No." Faith's response is a reflex, nothing more.

Wesley looks down, uncertain for the first time, his hand spread flat on the table. It doesn't tremble.

"We have... information. The demon population will realize within weeks, a few months at most. Unless something is done, Sunnydale is at risk. The hellmouth." He looks at her now. "Faith. We need you to be a slayer again. _The_ slayer."

Faith opens her mouth, closes it in time to prevent the words _I can't_ from coming out. It’s a sick joke: getting everything she wanted, and losing everything she wanted, too. She shuts her eyes and draws a breath, exhales evenly through her nose.

She sets her jaw and stands up. "Stand back from the glass," she says.

##

They're on Wesley's bike, and he was prepared with an escape route. It seems a little too easy; Faith suspects magic is involved.

She tries to remember what being free is like.

They don't talk again until Wesley pulls off at the outskirts of Sunnydale. The row of seedy motels is achingly, hatefully familiar.

They pull off their helmets. "We can cover the cost for a few weeks," Wesley says. "After that I'm afraid you're on your own." He unties a small duffel from the back of the bike. "Cordelia picked up some clothes. There's also an ID inside," he says, handing the bag to Faith. "Miss Winters."

"Chilly. I like it," Faith says, for lack of anything else. It's weird to be here. To think, _back_ , and mean Sunnydale. It can't be a homecoming if it wasn't your home, and yet it's as much home as anywhere else she's lived.

She shakes herself. "Listen," she says, urgently. "You gotta fill me in. What the hell happened?"

##

After Wesley leaves, Faith is at a loss for what to do. She paces in short half-circles around her rented bed, stretches her arms over her head, yanks her hands through her hair.

None of it is right.

Buffy – gone.

That damn vision won’t leave her alone. She sees a bright flash and golden blonde hair every time she closes her eyes. She knows what happened, but she doesn't understand _what happened_. Where was Giles? Where were her friends? If Faith had been there –

Sleep is out of the question. 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, a shower. The clothes from Cordelia somehow fit perfectly. (Of course they do.) She turns the tv up too loud until she zones out.

When the sun goes down, Faith grabs the boots, jean jacket, and one of the stakes lining the duffel and heads out.

She wanders through the darkening streets to the nearest cemetery, quickly dusting two vamps. Another cemetery. The third vamp gives a bit more chase, and Faith lets herself fly after him, feeling the hunt, the wind in her hair. She _missed_ this. The vamp returns to the earth and she rests a moment, listening to the night.

Faith has never been good at knowing herself. She knows other people. She's more likely to see herself in someone else and work from there. Just – just projecting and waiting for someone to see her in return.

The problem is, no one ever did, and Faith was alone, which is what she said she wanted, but she didn't, she never wanted to be alone, she wanted Buffy; Buffy who had friends and a real watcher and a kind mother, who was beautiful and glowed and came alive when they fought until Faith couldn't stop seeing herself.

Prison has changed her, though. She could have left at any time; she proved that today. Women fought her but they didn't burn brightly enough for Faith to see anything but who they were. In prison Faith felt most herself when she was alone. She thought about Buffy a lot. She stayed because of Buffy.

She wanders on to the next cemetery. It’s empty. She goes to the next, and the next, head aimless but her feet sure. The sun is tickling the edge of the horizon when she hears – nothing – but turns her head, anyway.

BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS  
1981 - 2001

BELOVED SISTER  
DEVOTED FRIEND

SHE SAVED THE WORLD A LOT

Faith sits down and says goodbye.

It's not until she gets up to leave that she notices Joyce's grave, too. She shuts her eyes, clenches and unclenches her fist. _God_ , she thinks.

##

The next afternoon, Faith wakes up famished and wanders out for some breakfast.

No one recognizes her, but she’s conscious that, though it’s been over a year, someone could.

She heads to the library – surely no one will recognize her there – partly out of the boredom of waiting for nightfall, but also out of a sense of responsibility. She is the slayer, now. She should probably – know more stuff.

She leafs cursorily through books on the history of Sunnydale, before realizing that the kind of books with stuff she should know are, actually, not going to be in the public library.

She thinks about Giles, and Xander and Willow and Dawn, and turns away from the thought. It's not like she can waltz up to them out of the blue. Actually – she hadn't even considered whether they knew about her being out. Wesley didn't mention. He was pretty quick to leave after dropping her off.

She goes back to her room and occupies herself with working out, sharpening stakes, tuning out the tv. _Spartan_ , she remembers suddenly. Well, Ms. Post was a real piece of work, but it had worked alright in prison.

She goes out at night, of course. Every night, all night.

On the fourth day back in Sunnydale, she sees them.

Faith crouches behind a headstone and watches Willow, Xander, some yellow-haired guy, a girl Faith vaguely remembers as Willow's girlfriend, and a slight blonde woman – Faith looks again, but no, it's not – fighting a handful of vamps. They're messy – too messy – but surviving.

Willow picks one up out of thin air and hurtles him over several rows of graves; he lands groaning a few yards from Faith. Her magic is strong now, Faith thinks, and rakes her eyes over her, grudgingly appreciative. Nobody's looking in this direction, or has realized there's still a live vamp; Faith sidles over and stakes the poor bastard. Turning back, she sees the group dust the last of them and wander slowly together, wheezing a little but clearly relishing the victory.

Faith waits until they leave, thinking. She grows angry, which is why she generally avoids thinking. But – what do they think they're doing? Buffy is _dead_ and they're – what, playing at taking over? Being heroes? Do they really think they can do a slayer’s job?

Admittedly they're not completely hopeless, but she knows them. She remembers. They tagged along, but they didn't _train_ for it. They lived their lives, and slaying was a fun extracurricular activity. It wasn't the _whole_ of their lives. They couldn't understand.

She keeps to the shadows and heads in the direction they went, towards the Summers' house. It suddenly occurs to Faith to wonder what their living situation must be, now, with two of the Summers women gone. What about Dawn?

The yellow-haired one – Spike, she remembers with a start, a vampire – is the first to split off, heading deeper into the cemetery. When they reach downtown, Xander and the blonde woman leave, hand-in-hand.

Willow tucks her head on the other girl's shoulder as they wind their way down the streets. They eventually reach Buffy's house, and head inside.

Faith goes back to her motel.

##

She waits several more days, knowing Wesley's dime on this motel is running out. She'll have to think about getting a job, she supposes. She pushes the thought away.

It's late morning on Saturday when she walks carefully back to Revello Drive. The house feels more alive in daylight. Faith holds her breath, and knocks.

The door swings open, and Buffy is there.

Buffy smiles brightly – no. She was already smiling brightly when she opened the door. She continues smiling brightly, cocking her head at a vaguely awkward angle as she says, "Hello! Who are you?"

There's not a trace of recognition in Buffy's face, or disguise in her voice. Neither is it a face or a voice that Faith has ever known.

"What..." Faith says, out of habit. She lets it trail off. Something is – wrong. Well, obviously something is wrong. Her mind rushes through possibilities. Did they lie? Faith feels a familiar anger simmering in her chest. But – no; Faith has had dreams of the vision every night. That's not a lie.

Her friends must have _done_ something. The simmer roars to a boil and Faith sets her jaw. "Can I come in?" She manages to sound casual.

"Yes!" says the body in front of her. She stands aside, and Faith moves to the threshold. Suddenly a hand shoves her in the chest, stopping her. Faith looks back, surprised, to see Buffy's face angled again, peering at her.

"Oh! Wait," says the too-cheerful voice. "Are you a vampire? If you're a vampire you can't come in."

The hand at her collarbone is unyielding. The touch is lukewarm; room temperature. Faith laughs incredulously, but the face is still looking at her, placidly, waiting for an answer. "I'm not a fucking vampire."

"No, I see that now. Your blood is all warm and you are breathing. Not like Spike. Come in!" The hand drops.

Faith stares, takes another breath to stay her temper – it's all _wrong_ – and steps inside.

Just then Willow comes around the corner. "Did I hear someone at the d–"

She stops, staring at Faith.

Faith wanted to be calm when she saw them, saw everyone. She wanted to not be the disaster they knew before, but her jaw is set and her hands are clenched and she can't think straight. She knows it's on her face, the accusation in her eyes –

"Faith! What... what are you doing here?"

"Wesley didn't tell you?"

Willow hesitates. "No," she says, drawing the sound out a little. "You were in – did he get you out? You must – oh," this after following Faith's gaze to the creature wearing Buffy's face.

It's so obvious that that's not Buffy. True Buffy. How did they not know, when it was Faith being the imposter? Buffy told her herself, once, that Faith wasn't a good liar. Actor. Same difference.

They don't really know her. Didn't, she corrects herself. They can't have.

"It's not," Willow is saying, "what you think. That's not Buffy."

Faith laughs again, face swinging back to Willow's. "No _shit_."

Willow is staring at her, a question mark. "Buffy never looked at me like that," Faith scrapes out.

Willow does that thing where her eyes go a little wider and she breathes through her mouth and her gaze skitters away, to the imposter, who's still smiling, all open friendliness and vulnerability. She says, "It's – complicated. But it's probably good you're here. If we can trust you, I mean."

Faith looks at her, wary. Willow's defiance has always been too bold on her, the pretense of it, a hollow thing. But this, like her magic, seems to have grown stronger.

"Why do you think I'm here? B's – Buffy – she's gone, and apparently the hellmouth will get a lot more hellish if I don't..." She's not sure how to finish that sentence.

"Good," Willow says imperiously. "Then. Do you want some breakfast?"

Faith does.

##

It's tense in the kitchen. Tara is already there and gives Faith a plate of pancakes, after Willow does introductions of a sort and then goes upstairs. Faith eats standing up at the counter, attempting to be pleasant with Tara, who's clearly trying to be nice.

Willow comes back shortly with Dawn, and it's obvious she’s been warned about Faith's presence. "Hey, Faith," she says, eyes guarded, arms ludicrously crossed. She's older than Faith remembers and burning with righteousness. Faith isn't sure whether she sees more of Buffy or of herself in her.

"Hey," she returns, cautiously.

"Willow says you've decided to be a good guy. That's great. But you should know: if you ever hurt anyone I love again, I will tie you up and throw you in the river."

She juts her chin up with the threat. She and Faith both know she'd have a hell of a time making good on it, but she means it. That's the important part.

Faith's proud of her. She swallows a smile and says, simply, "Okay."

Dawn nods. "Okay."

Willow tells her about the Buffy bot. Faith makes a disgusted face and files the information away, indulging in a quick daydream about punching Spike in the face. Or the dick. Maybe the dick and then the face.

"I've got this errand – errands – to run," Willow is saying. "But I'll see you tonight at Xander's?" she asks Tara.

"Another meeting?" Dawn says plaintively, and Faith can see the desperation in the question, even if the other two women can't. "But – Faith's here, so you don't need to do the slaying stuff anymore. Right? Ooh! How about a movie night?" she continues, with a forced grin.

It’s like Dawn just regressed about five years. Faith frowns.

"Oh," Willow says, looking at Tara. "Well, that would be nice! But this is, sort of, an important errand, or meeting, we –"

"We'll definitely talk about that, though," says Tara, with a discreet elbow in Willow's ribs. "And about the movie nights. With popcorn." She smiles crookedly at Dawn, who lets herself be placated.

"Fine," Dawn says. "I suppose you'll want Spike to look after me, even though I can take care of myself on my own –"

"Spike?" Faith breaks in. "Wait, what? You just told me – the _sex bot_ – and you let him watch over _Dawn?_ "

"It's –" Dawn starts.

"– complicated," Willow says. "He has a chip, he can't actually do anything –"

"Plus he's promised to look after me. Even though I don't need it. But I trust him. More than I trust you."

Faith raises her eyebrows. "A chip," she says. Willow explains about the chip. "Okay," Faith starts.

"Plus he was totally in love with Buffy," says Dawn.

Faith – Faith just looks at her.

"I remember when you decided to go hunt Angel down. You don't get to make that decision this time. He's –" Dawn hesitates. "He loves her – loved her – and he's on our side. He promised me. He's – my friend." Her eyes turn steely again.

Faith's eyebrows are at her hairline, but mentally throws her arms up.

"Whatever," she says, edging toward the door. "Listen, I'll be around. Keep that thing," she says, gesturing at the Buffy bot, " _away_ from me. Thanks for breakfast. And I guess, if you need me, I'm at the motel."

##

She goes out at twilight. Spike isn't hard to find. She tackles him easily, noticing that he doesn't try to defend himself.

"Yeah, alright," he drawls. "You're the other one, I take it? Faith," he says, spitting the name.

"That's me," she says. She stands, stepping back, waiting for him to climb back to his feet.

He peers at her. "So, you know who I am? Just decided to rough me up a bit for fun?"

Faith smirks, leaning back against a tree. "Figured you had it coming to you."

"Oh, really. How's that, then."

"I ran into _Buffy_ today," she says, emphasising the name and noting how he flinches in response. "Wait! No. A fucking robot with her face. Left me with the strange urge to punch you in the dick. You can see I chose an alternative option."

"That bloody thing." Spike swears, pulling a flask out of his jacket and taking a swig. "I learned my lesson on that _months_ ago. Thought they destroyed it. Should have done, and now they're _using it_ , which if you ask me is _worse_ –"

He hangs his head and draws his shoulders up. He really does feel... something, Faith thinks.

"Worse? Uh, no," she says, pitilessly.

"No," he mumbles, "I know." He turns, though, and looks at her; his eyes are red, not like he's about to cry now, but as though he's been on the verge of weeping for weeks. "Every day, though. I have to see her, every bloody day, walking around all – gleaming – as if nothing's wrong –"

He wrenches his whole body away and starts walking out of the cemetery. "Anyway," he throws over his shoulder. "If you're done not punching me in sensitive places, there's a little bit needs babysitting."

Faith lets him go.

She hunts and dusts half a dozen vamps, finding herself suddenly on a nicely tended street. An apartment on the corner is lit up, warmly, and she sees Xander in the window, pacing, clearly arguing.

Huh.

Breaking into the building isn't a problem, of course, but it takes her much longer than it should to puzzle out where his apartment is from the inside. Then she hears the raised voices.

"Guys, I need you on board, here." That's Willow.

"It's just," Xander starts, and stops. "It feels wrong."

"It _is_ wrong." And that's Tara, and Faith is surprised at the confident tone of her voice. "It's against all the laws of nature, and practically impossible to do, but it's what we agreed to." Here her voice falters again. "If you guys are changing your minds –"

"Nobody's changing their minds," Willow says. "Period."

"Excuse me?" Xander splutters. "Who made you the boss of the group?"

There's more squabbling after that, but Faith is preoccupied with an exaggerated mental eyeroll. Sounds like big boy got some sense _and_ some backbone knocked into him, finally. Faith doesn't know what they're planning, but it gives her a bad feeling. Especially Willow.

She tunes back in.

"No one else can know," Willow is saying. "They might not understand."

Yes, that's always the mark of a good, solid, secret plan.

"Xander, this isn't zombies!"

Faith freezes.

"Buffy didn't die a natural death. She was killed by mystical energy."

"Which means we do have a shot."

"It means more than that. It means we don't know where she really is."

Faith can't do this; if she hears any more she’ll be breaking the door down. She makes for the exit. The night is cool on her skin, but there's an itching just beneath it that won't settle.

She hunts until the sun comes up and only then tumbles into her motel bed. The golden light through the window is soft and warm on her face, and she sleeps.

##

She doesn't wake up so much as feel the light grow brighter, glowing, growing warmer, painting her eyelids.

_A bright light, blonde hair in the wind, her face turning, a smile at the corner –_

She knows, on some level, that this isn't the vision anymore, that it's been warped by being dreamt so many times. It doesn't matter. Buffy – she has always – this has always meant something to Faith, though she kept the thought at arm's length, teasing it. It wasn't ever – couldn't ever be real.

The fantasy warms her, all the same; it always has. Faith shifts under the thin covers, turning toward the window. She doesn't open her eyes; she carefully blanks her mind of everything.

Her hand drifts between her legs and she thinks of nothing, nothing, until the heat explodes through her.

She gets up and showers the feeling off.

##

She does her push-ups and sit-ups and then does a hundred more; she spends half an hour using the mattress as a makeshift punching bag. She's trying to decide what to do.

It's just the four of them. Spike doesn't know ( _he's in love with her_ – Faith shoves the echo viciously away from her); they haven't even told Dawn.

God. Her mother dies, then her sister a few weeks later. She's just a kid, with nobody but a sleazy vampire to look to for protection.

Faith's fists clench unconsciously. She's just a kid. She deserves better, and Faith doesn't know how to make sure she gets it, but it feels important that she does.

Faith is the slayer now. She should – look after things.

She thinks about Dawn; about vampires pulling themselves out of the ground, about demons circling the hellmouth ever closer. She had never thought about the potential threats this way, when she was here before. Sunnydale before was more like – a jack-in-the-box. Scary thing jumps up, you knock it down. Easy. Done.

She thinks she understands Buffy better, now. Never knowing where a scary thing might pop up, if it would be near your mother or your kid sister, interrupting your school day, or your date, needing to knock it down but not letting anyone see you doing it.

Faith was just a loner; no one cared what she did or didn't do. Not that it was a walk in the park, but she supposes now it was easier, in its way. She never had a life, the way Buffy did. She only ever had the slaying.

So. She squares her shoulders. First priority: Dawn, because she's got shit all protection and if it turns out what Willow’s cooking up _is_ zombies, Faith doesn't want her to know it.

Second priority? Giles, she decides. Not that she cares, of course, or needs an authority figure. But _they_ care, Willow and Xander, and they clearly do need it. He should know. Wrinkly old British face should scare them straight.

She goes by his place, but it's empty.

Fine. She goes to the cemetery. There's a vamp needs a rude awakening.

##

"Listen, noodles," she says over Spike's indignant spluttering. "Can you watch the kid tonight? Make sure, I don't know, nothing happens?"

Spike stops, straightens, looks at her. "What d'you think might happen, then?"

He doesn't need to know. "Just got a bad feeling. Gonna follow up on it. Don't want her to be out and about."

"Mm hm." He wanders a few paces. "What about the others? Red and the manchild and their lot. Won't be all cozy at home?"

Faith uncrosses her arms, sets her shoulders. He doesn't need to know, but he can guess. "I hear not."

A vague warning, as a courtesy.

"Right, I'll stop by. Keep an eye out. You need any back-up, then you'll know where I'll be."

Faith raises her eyebrows, but doesn't want to ruin this deal when they're sort of getting along. She's not trusting him, yet, but he's not on the _other_ side. Could be handy, vampire or not.

She supposes he can't help the sleaze.

##

Faith wanders aimlessly the rest of the day, waiting. When the sun starts to edge toward the horizon, she makes her way for the cemetery where the Summers' graves are. She gets waylaid by several vamps, though, and the gang is already beginning a ritual when she gets there.

She stops for a moment, unsure. Magic has never really been her thing, and she doesn't know – if they've already started –

Willow's face is taut. Blood is smeared and dripping down her cheek. Their hands all cling to their candles, tightly. They're frightened.

Faith's anger churns and propels her forward. "Hey!" she shouts, and they look up at her, surprised, but don't move. "What the hell is going on here?"

Xander's eyes dart between her & Willow, whose lips are moving uninterrupted & whose eyes gaze off unseeingly. "I don't –" he says, desperately. "We can't –"

"We can't stop," Tara says, her teeth clenched, staring at Willow. "Not now."

Faith's hands grip her hair, panic taking over the anger inside her. "Why? Why are you – she wanted this."

Xander gapes at her. " _Wanted_ this?! What the hell are you–"

"She fought for it, didn't she? She fought! She did enough. She was done! She let go. She –" Faith chokes back something in her throat. She doesn't say anything else.

Something in the air slashes at Willow. More blood.

Anya yelps and makes to move back. So does Xander. Tara tells them to stay.

Faith doesn't know what to do. She stares at Willow, stares at the grave.

_She saved the world a lot_

And now Willow thinks she's saving Buffy. Faith wants to leave, to be sick behind a bush, to run and never come back.

She stays and watches.

Willow falls over suddenly, and Faith thinks _she's_ being sick, right there. Her mouth gapes. A snake slithers out of it. Then there's a red light, and she's saying something.

Then, suddenly, there's nothing. The candles go out. The snake and the light are gone. Willow pants for breath, and that's all there is.

The moment stretches on. "Did it work?" she asks, and still there's nothing. "I don't – I don't understand."

Faith is hit out of nowhere, seeing that bright light from her vision. She doubles over with the intensity of it. The light fades to an eerie red glow. A pair of eyes snap open. There’s only darkness, filled with harsh, desperate breathing.

"Fuck." Faith falls to her knees, but she can barely see what's in front of her. Her senses seem dulled. Her knuckles hurt.

Grass. She rips at it ferociously, digging down. There are cries she can't hear around her, and other hands appear, but whether to help or to pull her away she can't tell.

She reaches the lid of the coffin and draws in a shaky breath, tries to school her features a little. Faith’s sure she looks awful: scared, desperate, and that's the last thing she should see –

She lifts it up, and there she is. Buffy. Terrified.

Faith leans down toward her, the horror of the situation disappearing. She finds her mouth shaping itself around unfamiliar words, a stream of them. "Shh, it's okay, I'm here. You're here," she says, over and over. She pets Buffy’s hair briefly, her shoulder; takes her hands between her own and gives the slightest tug. Buffy's staring at her and Faith isn't sure what she's seeing, but she struggles to stand and climb out, and Faith is there.

For a moment they just stand there, next to her grave. Faith is still holding her hands; Buffy stares at her, glassily.

The others have moved back.

Faith swallows. She shifts an arm around Buffy's shoulders in support. "Let's go home," she says, and the rest follow.

(AFTER LIFE)

It's slow going. The murmurs of the gang behind her have grown louder; Faith thinks she catches Willow saying something like "you think she'd be happier," and her hands grip at Buffy tighter with the effort not to spin around and deck her.

She's not sure if Buffy can hear them, but she looks askance at Faith's face, and then away. She hasn't said anything.

When they turn onto Revello Drive and near the house, Faith stops.

"Dawn," she says, and waits for someone to answer. "Spike."

Buffy stills under her hands. She's still cold.

"Oh," Willow says.

"I think –" Tara says. "I mean, I'll go in first? So there's no surprise." She pauses a moment. "Less surprise."

She and Willow go in together, sending a look at Buffy and Faith. Faith looks at Xander, whose head is hanging, Anya whispering at him. A few minutes go by, and Faith moves Buffy slowly up to the house, waiting another minute, then slowly up the walk itself.

Honestly, she's flying by the seat of her pants, here. She doesn't know what she's doing. It's hard to let go of Buffy, though.

Dawn comes out of the door as they approach. "Buffy?" she asks, and Faith aches at the desperate relief in her voice. "Oh, Buffy!" She runs up and hugs her around the waist, tucking her face into Buffy's arm.

Buffy looks down at the top of her head, and slowly raises her free hand. She hesitantly pats at Dawn's hair, and Dawn lets out an audible sob.

Dawn pulls back and looks at Buffy. She takes a breath, and Faith can see Dawn set her shoulders, turning off the scared little sister role.

"Come on," she says, taking her hand and leading her inside. Faith finally lets go of Buffy. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Faith comes back to herself, standing on the stoop. Spike is there. His face is frozen in disbelief and – anger: Faith sees the mirror of her own in his.

He waits until the girls turn the corner up the stairs, safely out of earshot, and turns on his heel to face Willow and Xander.

"You _fucking imbeciles_ ," he grits out.

Willow's face sets, defiantly; Xander takes a shaky breath and looks down.

"You think you're playing at god, do you? Don't suppose you have any bloody idea what – and you didn't _tell_ me!"

Faith steps to his side, crossing her arms and looking at the others.

"I saved all your lives, all summer!" Spike continues. "And you brought her back, and you didn't tell me."

Xander's defensive again. "Well, now you know! Maybe you should shut up and just be happy she's back, alright?"

Spike scoffs, but Willow interjects: "Besides, I know what I'm doing."

"We'll see about that, won't we," Spike says, and turns to leave. "The thing about magic – there's _always a price_."

"Listen," Faith says, turning to the others. "I'm here to be the slayer. Keep the town safe, protect people like Dawn, and make sure people or _things_ ," she spits, pointedly, "with the power to do harm, don't. I don't care if you trust me. But I get the feeling Buffy might need keeping an eye on, right now, too. That's what I'll be doing. I'll be around."

Willow's looking at her, eyes keen. "Alright," she says. "But don't think I don't know you, Faith."

Faith snorts incredulously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Willow moves in, fractionally, staring her down. Since when does Willow stare people down? Stare _Faith_ down?

"That this is the best day of your worthless life. That when you saw Buffy, alive, that was the happiest you've ever been. _F_."

A strange, charged moment passes between them.

Faith doesn't let her face betray anything, but neither can she think of a word to say. She forces a shrug, and walks away.

##

Faith so wants to feel a bit of 'I told you so' satisfaction about the demon Willow had unwittingly unleashed during the ritual, but she also arrives just as Buffy is chopping off its head, no help at all. Takes some of the fun out of gloating.

She keeps her threat, though, hanging around Buffy at a distance but just within reach. In case she wanted... well. It's not like there's much else to do during daylight hours, anyway. Buffy catches her eye occasionally, and doesn't smile (she doesn't much smile at all, now), but she stands a little straighter when she knows Faith is there.

Not that that means anything. Faith just notices, is all.

Faith sees Spike hovering, too. They nod at each other, sometimes, wordlessly agreeing on a Buffy watch shift swap. One of them is always around.

The morning after the grave rider demon, Faith enters the alley behind the Magic Box, where Spike is smoking in the shade. He bums her one and they sit, companionably.

"She inside?"

"Yeah." Spike turns his head slightly, as if listening. "Being grateful."

Faith makes a noncommittal noise. Spike stands, finishing his smoke and looking to leave by way of a sewer grate. "Sleep tight," Faith says, and gets a wave in return.

After another minute, Buffy comes out of the shop, alone.

"Buffy," Faith says softly.

She looks up. "Faith,” she says, startled, and then: “Didn't know you smoked."

Faith stubs out her cigarette and leans forward. "Nasty habit I picked up in prison. Can't afford to keep it up, though."

Buffy wanders toward her and sits down.

"Heard you were hugging it out in there or something. Leaving again so soon?"

"Wanted to be alone, I guess."

Faith looks at her sidelong. "Should I leave?"

"No, it's fine. I can be alone with you here."

Faith laughs, deceptively light. "Ouch."

Buffy shifts, uncomfortable. "You know what I mean."

“Pretty sure that was exactly the problem with us, if I remember right.”

She just looks so – unhappy. Faith's fingers itch to move toward her.

"Buffy," she tries. "Hey. They said maybe you were in hell, with the torture and everything. I know you don't – trust me," she says, laughing mirthlessly, "but if I can do.... You know me. Really great at the working through inner demons shit." Great, now she's rambling. "Not that I would recommend going to prison, though I could –"

"I wasn't in hell," Buffy says.

It bursts out of her, like she's needed to say it but couldn't. Faith shuts up.

"I was... I was happy. At peace. I knew that everything was – alright," she continues haltingly. "Everyone was safe. I knew it. I was warm, and I was loved, and I was finished. Complete."

Faith draws in a breath. "I knew it." The anger in her stokes again.

Buffy continues as if she hadn't said anything. "I was torn out of there. Now, everything is so bright, violent – this is hell. Just getting through every moment..." She looks at Faith. "Is this how you felt?"

Faith swallows, hard. "Sounds familiar, yeah. Only I didn't... didn't _die_. It's probably worse for you."

She sort of did, of course, depending on how you count the coma. She doesn’t mention it.

Faith sits forward, leaning just slightly into Buffy’s space. "Buffy, listen, if I can do anything –"

"You can't." She stands up. "They don't know. Don't tell them."

(FLOODED)

A routine settles slowly over the next few weeks. Buffy tries harder around her friends, and takes a break from the mask with Faith. Faith spends a lot of time hanging around the alley behind the Magic Box, waiting.

When they talk it's nothing of substance. They fight a little, but Faith's heart isn't really in it, except that Buffy's face is something other than a blank slate, which is nice.

Buffy doesn't bring up heaven, and Faith doesn't bring up comas and gut wounds, so they mostly get along.

Just for a couple weeks, though, and then things start to get weird and Buffy gets more talkative. Faith supposes that's how she really knows she's in Sunnydale.

It starts with Buffy's basement. All of a sudden the pipes give out, and there's a lake where there should only be concrete. Buffy comes by the motel for the first time, arriving in the late morning just as Faith is waking. She sits hesitantly on Faith's bed. Faith shrugs a "So, what's up?" as she ducks into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

"You know, the usual. Life. Did it always suck this much?"

Faith snorts. "You're asking the wrong girl. I never cared for it much in the first place."

"Right. Well, let me tell you about the joys of home ownership!" Buffy says, and Faith listens.

"And apparently, mom getting sick and both of us dying cost a lot of money, which doesn't seem fair for me to have to deal with _now_. But," and she slumps into herself, looking to the side, her voice quieting. "There's no one else to do it. Ha. Where have I heard that before. 'One girl to stand' yada yada, when really, there could be couches and things. Sitting is nice."

Faith, leaning against the door jamb in front of her, thinks about this. "I always thought your mom did pretty well, money-wise, right? I mean, judging from your house."

"Yeah, she had the gallery."

Buffy's eyes look far away, and Faith figures she doesn't like talking about her mom much.

"What's happening with that now? Might be worth something. You should sell it – or, hire someone to run it, right, keep that cash flowing."

"Huh," Buffy says, but not in a bad way.

Faith shakes her head to herself, suddenly, at the idea of her giving life advice. Buffy looks at her, then, arching an eyebrow in question. The early afternoon light is reflecting off her hair in a golden glow.

Faith laugh, shortly. "It's so weird to be back here. It feels all – different. I feel different."

Buffy considers this. "Why did you come?" she asks, carefully, and Faith can't help bristling a little. Some habits are buried deep.

There's an edge to her voice when she says, "I was needed." There's no response to that, and after a moment she wanders closer, sits on the bed with Buffy.

"Wesley said you were gone; I didn't put a lot of thought into it. He said – the hellmouth…. And then you were back, and I thought – it seemed like you might need –” She cuts off.

 _Need me_ , she can't bring herself to say. “A break,” she finishes instead.

The unvoiced question is painfully obvious to her own ears, but she's not sure if Buffy picks up on it. Several minutes go by, sitting together in a silence growing more companionable the longer it goes on, the light in the room steadily growing brighter.

"I'm glad you're here," Buffy says softly.

##

Faith is on her way to the Magic Box when she sees a green demon climb out of a sewer, heading toward a house and into its basement. She investigates.

She's peering carefully into a window, looking for the quickest way in, when she realizes the demon isn't attacking, or skulking, or thieving, but instead just arguing with three boys. Soon it's shouting about wanting the head of the slayer, and Faith's hands curl into fists. This demon must have met Buffy, and Faith wasn't there.

She grunts at herself. This new protective impulse is really inconvenient.

One of the boys slips the demon a piece of paper and sends him off. Faith makes sure he doesn't get far.

##

When she gets to the Magic Box, she goes in the front door, rather than turning into the alley. She still prefers not interacting with the rest of the gang, but figures they should know about the demon.

"Is this him?" Dawn is saying, holding up a book. "Mmmm, fashnik."

Buffy catches Faith's eye and almost smiles before turning back to kid sis, but the rest of them barely acknowledge her presence.

"That's him," Buffy agrees. "Big bad."

"Big dead," Faith corrects, and everyone turns to look at her. She shrugs. "Saw him hanging out with some guys downtown, thought it was weird. Especially when he started yelling about killing us – you," she says, glancing at Buffy. "So."

"Great," Buffy says. "I love when it's easy."

Which is when the door opens again, bell chiming, and Giles enters.

Faith watches Buffy's face. It's as if time stops, for a moment, like she remembers the world ending but blinked it back into existence. Another moment and she takes a breath, walking toward him.

There's a strange coil of jealousy warming Faith's gut, and she struggles to tamp it back down. She slips out the back.

##

Faith had never minded slaying on her own, pre-Sunnydale. Not that she got all that much practice before Kakistos – but she had a duty, a job, she was meant for something, she _was_ something. She’d loved it. But slaying with Buffy, that was different. She thought, at first, that since they were both _something_ , they could _be_ something, together.

Whatever that meant. She hadn’t thought about it too closely.

It became clear soon enough that Buffy would rather be the only something, that she didn't like Faith's style. Didn't like Faith. And then – well, Faith didn't do a lot of traditional slaying, after that.

So it's strange to be doing it on her own again, after years. She finds that strolling through the familiar cemeteries is lonesome. She thinks back to that one really good day they had, before it was all ruined.

She wonders if Buffy has missed this, after being gone.

Coming up on the Summers house, she sees a familiar figure on the back porch, and cuts across the lawn. Buffy lifts her head from where it's been resting on her knees, gives a brief, shaky smile, and moves over a bit on the step.

Faith sits. "Hey. You okay?"

Buffy sighs. "It's – Giles and Willow. Fighting about the magic that brought me back. Don't think they know I can hear them."

Faith turns slightly, listening, but the discussion must be finished. "Fuck," she says. "Do you want me to punch them?"

A weak laugh. "No," Buffy says ruefully, "but thanks."

"If you're sure. Think I'd enjoy it, a little bit, though I suppose it would set this whole reconciliation thing back." She leans her elbows on the step behind her. "So, besides the bickering, is it good to have the old man back?"

"It helps, a little."

Faith hums noncommittally, and almost has an idea that Buffy interrupts.

"Thanks, by the way. Anya's helping to fix up the situation with the gallery. That helps, too."

"Oh. Good." Her idea comes back. "Speaking of money, and Giles, and slayers in need of food and housing," she says, and Buffy looks at her, crooking an amused eyebrow. "Why the hell does he get paid and we don't?"

Buffy blinks. "They probably don't expect us to live long enough to need to support ourselves, do they."

Faith laughs humorlessly. "Yeah, definitely remember the cannon fodder feeling."

Buffy sighs in agreement, and they sit a moment.

"Wait," Buffy says. "Is the motel not...? Do you need a place?"

Faith stretches uncomfortably. "Ah. You know, the manager yells through my door a lot recently, but –" She rolls her shoulders. "I'll be alright."

Buffy shakes her head, but when Faith looks at her, she's smiling. "Listen, I'll make you a deal. Help me clear out the basement and I'll find you a cot to sleep on."

"Buffy..."

"Everyone else stays here. Might as well."

A smile springs to Faith’s face; she leans forward to knock shoulders with Buffy and let her hair obscure her face. Faith can't for the life of her find the words for her gratitude. She doesn't.

They lapse into more silence, watching the sky as it darkens to night. Faith is eventually paying more attention to the soft glow of the porch light swathing over them: the way it plays off Buffy's hair, warms the colors of her face and neck. Faith bites back a shudder, remembering how cool her skin was the night she came back.

She finds her tongue again. "So. I was wondering if you wanted to come slaying. Missed it at all?"

Buffy regards her a moment, and says yes.

The phone rings. "Who's calling?" Buffy says. "Everyone I know lives here."

She gives a tiny smile and gets up, turning into the house. By the time Faith follows her in, she's saying, "Angel," and walking out the front door.

(LIFE SERIAL)

Faith comes back in the morning, shouldering off her small, inherited duffel at the door to the basement. She's been standing on the stairs for a minute, trying to figure out how exactly they're – she's – supposed to clear up all the water, when she hears someone approaching.

"Faith?" Willow says from behind her. "What are you doing?"

There's no small amount of the old jealous rivalry in her voice, and Faith suddenly has a vivid flashback to three years ago. Willow's soft red hair, her breaths coming short and terrified, calling Faith nothing, a waste. The satisfying sound when her fist hit Willow's face.

She takes a deep breath and unclenches her fingers. A lot has changed in three years; not everything has changed. She has things to atone for. Faith tries to think about what Angel told her over and over.

But Angel is with Buffy. Right this second.

There's always something Faith wants, isn't there, that remains just beyond her reach.

She exhales shakily and turns to Willow. "Trying to do my part as the newest resident of the household. Do you know if there's a mop and bucket somewhere, or...?"

Willow's face clouds over. "You think you're moving in? Who gave you –"

" _Buffy_ did, alright? So leave it. I'll stay out of your way, as soon as I don't need a pool float to be down here."

A moment. Faith looks away.

There's a distinct "harumph" noise. Willow waves her arm, and with a soft swishing sound the water disappears. So does Willow, tossing Faith's bag in and shutting the door behind her.

##

By the time Buffy comes back, and by the time she's reminded, no doubt, of Faith's presence, and by the time she makes her way down to the basement, Faith has set up a spartan little corner for herself. She's found the cot Buffy mentioned, and a punching bag besides.

There's no temporary numbered door or shiny electronics she could never afford or steel bars. It feels more like home than anything Faith's had since – since maybe ever.

"Hey," Buffy says. She stands uncertainly on the edges of Faith's setup.

It’s dim downstairs, which suits Faith fine, except for right now, when the light from the bare bulb at the other end of the room is setting off a golden halo behind Buffy's head. That’s pretty inconvenient. Faith looks away.

"I see you settled in." Buffy's voice goes vaguely hopeful at the end.

“Buffy,” Faith says, but no other words come. She breathes in, and then out.

"Listen," Buffy starts. "I'm sorry I left. You've been – it's been surprisingly nice having you around since I... got back. But Angel, he's –"

"Don't –" Faith sets her jaw, tries again. "I know. He's Angel. I get it.” She shrugs. “Don't stress it, Buffy. I'm fine."

Buffy looks down, shuffling the toe of one boot in slow half circles around the other.

Faith forces a grin, knowing it's too sharp but not how to soften it. "Hey. Up for some action?"

Buffy looks up in surprise and, weirdly, confusion, as Faith grabs her jacket. "Action?"

"Uh, patrolling? I mean, unless you had other ideas." Her grin smooths into something more comfortable as she waggles her eyebrows.

Buffy laughs weakly. "Patrolling sounds good. Should probably start getting this corpse back into shape."

##

The next evening, Buffy comes quietly down to the basement again.

"Hey," Faith says when she sees her on the stairs, and quiets the slightly swinging punching bag between her hands.

Buffy comes closer, and Faith takes a second look at her. “Jesus,” she says. Buffy looks pale and clammy, her eyes exhausted, one arm wrapped around herself. Faith thinks she might smell tequila. “Bad day? What the hell happened?"

Buffy tries to laugh, but ends up groaning. "God. Faith. I can't do this."

She goes to Faith's cot, sitting gingerly and pulling her knees up. She curls around herself. Faith follows and sits next to her, then stills as Buffy lets her head fall on Faith's shoulder. She must be soused.

"I had the worst day. Is this what it's always like? Every day, over and over? I can't remember."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Lucky me."

Faith swallows, trying not to move. "So, what was today's brand of evil? Can I punch anything this time?"

"Let's see. First there was magic... and demons... time-sucky magic... then tequila. Did we know tequila was evil? Can we stake tequila and watch it turn to dust?"

Faith snorts. "Where did you even get that? How much did you drink?"

Buffy sighs. "A bottle. Stupid Spike. Oh! And then there was another demon, but he went poof.” She makes a movement with her hand apparently meant to illustrate the poofing. “He talked funny, though, I'm not sure he was a real demon. Definitely not a Giles' books demon."

"Spike? I can punch a Spike."

"Huh? No!" Buffy straightens, leaving Faith's shoulder cold.

Faith leans back against the concrete wall, which is colder. She casts a quizzical look. "No? What kind of no?"

"I don't know," Buffy says. She groans again. "I thought – I went ‘cause I thought he could make me feel better, you know, with the alcohol." She gestures weakly. "Turns out he's just a stupid... evil.... Ooh, did you know he plays poker with _kittens_?"

Faith laughs around the searing jealousy in her gut, caught off-guard. "Yikes. Definitely evil."

Buffy nods, laying down on the cot.

"I shouldn't have," she says, her eyes starting to drift shut. "He's not – he's all cold. Duh, vampire. You're warm, though. Much better."

(ALL THE WAY)

Faith goes out.

She can't decide whether it would be better to come back to a cot containing Buffy or one without, so she stays out until morning, and when she lets herself in, Giles is already stirring from his bed on the couch.

"Faith," he says quietly, catching her before she can make herself scarce. 

She turns back. "Hey, G."

"I wanted to thank you," he says, putting his glasses on. She raises her eyebrows in question. "Buffy passed along your – suggestion," he explains delicately, "about slayers being compensated by the council. I must say I agree, and am sorry the thought never occurred to me before."

Faith shrugs. "Probably didn't seem necessary before – her mom. And everything.” She pauses, then pushes ahead. “For her, anyway." She doesn't mind throwing a little bitterness in her tone; she appreciates that Giles has looked out for Buffy, but he's never given two shits about Faith.

He bows his head in an unvoiced acquiescence. "I've made some calls. It took some coercion, but it's in the works. Retroactively, even, though only for the past year."

"Great," Faith says, and turns toward the kitchen.

"Faith," Giles says gently. "For you, too."

She turns back, her mouth open, but nothing comes out. She shuts it, smiles, and heads downstairs.

Buffy's not there.

##

Buffy starts going out patrolling every night with Faith. They tag team as well as they always did – which means mostly well, and sometimes Faith is reckless, and Buffy yells about it. The yelling comes with less exasperation and more protectiveness now, though, than three years ago.

Faith doesn't think about it. 

Sometimes Buffy comes down to the basement while Faith's working the punching bag, but they don't talk much when she does. Buffy seems content to lean against the wall, occasionally offering tips that Faith laughs off.

"I know I've been locked up for a while," she quips back, "but hell if I'm going to take advice from a zombie."

Buffy's mouth falls open in a shocked kind of fondness. It's such a look on her, and directed at Faith, only at Faith, without anyone else around to dilute the attention, that she has trouble keeping her heartbeat steady.

Faith assumes the look is because everyone else is still so careful around Buffy. Faith doesn't blame them; she can see as well as they do the way Buffy carries herself, the way her face falls flat when she thinks no one's looking, the way she stirs to life sometimes as if she's forgotten that life is sort of a constant thing.

But Faith doesn't know how to comfort, she only knows how to distract. That's how you get through painful things: you don't let yourself think about it. You get loud, you throw punches, you dance, you flirt. Faith refuses to be all wishy-washy around Buffy, especially when she can get this kind of reaction.

Buffy laughs, and Faith's focus shatters. "Maybe that's what I'll dress up as tomorrow. It’ll be easy: I'll just go as myself."

Faith grunts. "Tomorrow?"

"Halloween."

"Oh. Yeah. Taking kid sis trick-or-treating?"

"What? Oh, god, no. She would kill me. _Especially_ if I dressed up."

Faith squares her shoulders, turning back to the punching bag.

"Anya has recruited everyone – well, I guess not everyone,” she says, with an apologetic glance at Faith. “But many ones. We're working the Magic Shop tomorrow. She promises I'll get paid for more than one hour this time."

Faith throws one punch, two, three-four.

"Do you wanna come? Costume is apparently mandatory. Hm," she says, and Faith sees her look Faith up and down, scrutinizing. "You could go as... Xena," she decides with a nod.

"What's a Zena?"

"TV warrior princess? You know, brown hair, nice muscles, fights for justice and saves the innocent. You should see the outfit." She tries to waggle her eyebrows and it’s so ridiculous on her that Faith can't help but laugh, though there's a now-familiar pool of warmth forming in her gut.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Retail is so not my thing," Faith says, and what she means is _Your friends hate me_.

Buffy studies her again and nods, understanding. "Believe me," she says. "I'm already regretting agreeing, but I figure it'll be a good distraction. You know."

Faith does.

"And –" Buffy hesitates. "I get it. About my friends. But they’ll try. If you're sticking around, they'll get used to you."

She looks up at Faith, and suddenly her last sentence is a question in Faith's ears. She grins. "I'm sticking around."

##

The checks from the Watchers Council arrive on Halloween. Since Buffy will be occupied, Faith decides to take a break. It's been awhile since she went out dancing.

She's missed it. The beat thunders through her, rumbling from the soles of her feet all the way to the tips of her fingers. Her hair sticks to her face as she sinews through a dozen partners, pulling them into her orbit before jettisoning onto the next.

There's a girl there, her hair yellow and framing her face, sticking to glossy pink lips. Faith smiles wickedly as their eyes lock, doesn't stop smiling as they pull each other into the alley behind the Bronze. The girl lets Faith crowd her up against a wall, lets her slip her hand under her skirt. Her breath pants softly in Faith's ear. She inhales the girl's flowery shampoo as her fingers urge her on, on, on, until she keens and bites Faith's neck.

Faith laughs, disentangling them, kissing her lazily until she can feel the lip gloss smeared onto her own lips.

She walks away, leaving the girl in the alley and heading home to Buffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mm anyway i've been spitting this out and picking at it for like literal years so i can't tell the parts i like apart from the ones i'm unsure of, anymore. however i do have a lot of thoughts about how things would be different and i have [james t. kirk voice] Emotions.
> 
>  _most_ of the rest of this is written so if you want it, you won't have to wait very long. thanksss bye


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt at the beginning of this chapter from [GIRLS WHO LOVE CHURCH GIRLS](http://sufferingtheologies.tumblr.com/post/129511414025/girls-who-love-church-girls-b-malone) by B. Malone.

_inhale flame, exhale purity, let me  
breathe over that bite i left on your neck.  
let me beg forgiveness under your skirt. let   
me find the promised land in the valley between  
your hips. let me be holy. let me be  
forgiven._

ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING

It's clear from the tension in the house when Faith gets back that she's missed some kind of hoopla. Willow is chasing Tara up the stairs, looking frantic, as Faith enters. Dawn is sitting alone in the dining room, grass in her hair and tear tracks on her cheeks.

Possibly multiple hooplas.

Faith looks around, finding Buffy standing next to Giles. Her shoulders are thin and bare and fragile-looking in a frilly tank top, but in the dim light they seem to urge Faith closer. Must be that new protective impulse again.

She looks up to find Buffy's eyes on her, darkening slightly at the state Faith's in. They drop to Faith's mouth, though, her neck, and Buffy's expression closes off.

She turns to Giles, says, "Thanks for taking care of it," and heads up to her bedroom.

Giles sighs and cleans his glasses. "Right, hello, Faith. Goodnight," he says, and walks toward Dawn. Faith sidles past before they begin what is clearly going to be an awkward conversation.

Downstairs, she tries to make sense of the moment with Buffy. It's not like Faith can't put together puzzle pieces that are placed right in front of her. But it's different with Buffy; there's too much, isn't there? Isn't there too much violence behind and between them to make room for anything else?

Faith has seen Buffy extend herself for Angel, for her friends, for her sister, for fucking strangers she'll never meet. For people who hated her. For people who tried to end her, even. She tried for Faith, and that's the worst of all, because Faith is gut-wrenchingly aware how unforgivable the things she did were. Could she forgive Buffy, if their positions were reversed?

But lately, Buffy has been pretending to be her old self around Faith. No, that's not quite right: Buffy has been acting as though she _likes_ Faith. As though they're _friends_.

It's impossible. If Buffy had looked at her three years ago the way she looked at Faith tonight, Faith would have pushed her into alleys or cob-webby crypts and tangled her fingers into Buffy's hair and leaned in to taste her lip gloss –

Faith reaches up, smearing the tacky-sweet stuff from the Bronze girl off her lips until they're bare. Yeah, right, her and Buffy. That might have solved a lot of problems back then. It might have created new ones.

##

Things are strained for the next few days. Buffy's happy mask is getting better, though Faith still sees the cracks in it: her distracted expressions, her rounded shoulders, her tendency to walk out of a room while her friends are mid-conversation.

She stops seeking out Faith's company, though. Faith is more likely to see Spike bobbing after her as she patrols at night, leaving Faith to do rounds alone.

Faith doesn't understand the change, because she's not thinking about impossible things. This is a familiar pain. But it's not just confusion and hurt and that jealousy that's always coiling in her gut, driving her crazy; there's a more recent feeling, too.

Faith's worried. While Buffy obviously meant nothing by the change in her demeanor toward Faith, when she was around, she actually _had_ a demeanor. Now, though she's better at pretending to be normal, Faith's worried that she's really feeling worse.

 _Worried_ , which is a feeling Faith has never had to deal with. Before, she didn't have anyone she cared enough about to worry over, and she was too young to worry about herself. Now, though, there's this, and there's Buffy.

##

Faith finds herself humming one (late) morning, waking slowly to the slant of sun through the basement windows and a chorus of birds outside. She showers and heads out to find something to eat, and that's when it becomes apparent that sometime in the last 16 hours, Sunnydale got even weirder.

It's still a novelty to be able to go to a place like the Espresso Pump with cash in her pocket and buy food, without worrying about running out of money. And she can buy whatever she wants, which makes it an improvement on the prison cafeteria, where meals were at least dependable, if tasteless.

It feels like growing up, she supposes.

The cashier hums and smiles, which is not normal exactly but not so strange that Faith does more than metaphorically roll her eyes. But then the barista bursts into song, literally singing, with his mouth, as he hands over Faith's mocha and muffin. Faith bolts out the door when the other patrons join in, and the choruses of "Put a little cocoa – in your coffee! – Sweeten up your day!" follow her halfway down the street.

She slowly realizes that almost everyone milling about downtown is humming, or singing, or dancing, or combinations thereof, and worst of all that they're _smiling_ while doing so. Faith hides in an alley no one else is occupying to eat and wonders why she doesn't feel like belting out tunes like everyone else apparently does.

She pulls up short when she gets to the Magic Box. There is music coming from inside.

There's no way she's dealing with _that_. She flees.

##

Faith spends a day or two lying low, avoiding everyone. She's not sleeping well, lately, though that's about Buffy, not the town's descent into operatics.

Or actually, it's a combination. It's been unsettling to catch herself humming, always when she's been thinking about Buffy. Not even just humming; Faith can feel words forming, molding themselves to a melody, the same one each time, now a familiar tune but not one she'd ever heard before this week.

She definitely avoids Buffy, finds it easy, and figures Buffy is still avoiding her, too.

Until one evening, when Faith ventures cautiously outside and finds the town in quiet chaos. People are still dancing, but with strained expressions; they're still singing, but sound on the verge of tears.

Faith empathizes.

She heads to the magic shop, thinking the gang has got to be planning to end this madness, finally. She's just arriving when Buffy storms out, her long red coat the color of blood, her hair dusky in the dark of the evening. Faith can tell she's upset; she's been too placid to move with that kind of ferocity.

Which means whatever or whoever is still inside the shop is something or someone Faith wants to punch, probably. She follows her worrying, worried gut through the door.

The rest of the gang is inside, staring awkwardly at Giles, who's looking at the floor. The tension is palpable, and Faith can somehow _sense_ it building into a song. Fortunately –

"Faith!" WIllow says. "Gosh, I'd almost forgotten you were still around. That was nice."

Faith merely raises her eyebrows in response, noticing with interest that Tara does, too. She turns to Giles. "What's going on?"

He looks at her, then unfocuses as he removes his glasses to clean them. "The dancing demon seems to have Dawn. Buffy's on her way."

Faith frowns. "While you guys, what, sit around glaring?"

"Not to side with she of the dubious morality – again," Xander says, "but: why _are_ we standing around? I say we mount up."

"Beady eyes is right," Anya sing-songs. "We're needed."

"No," Faith says quickly. "No, no singing. Hum if you have to but I will stuff your mouths with your own socks if I hear you even rhyme."

There's a moment of blessed silence while everyone shuts their mouths. "Great. Now, where to?"

##

They arrive too late to stop Buffy from singing, though. Faith hangs back in the shadows; she can already tell she's not the intended audience for this number, and besides, she wants to see the scoobies' reaction. Willow's, in particular, and it doesn't disappoint. The shock and regret painted there is almost enough to make Faith forgive her for – everything.

Almost, and yet not nearly close enough. Here's Buffy: the strongest, most in-control – _aggravatingly_ so – person Faith's ever met, forced to sing against her will, to reveal secrets she's been working hard to bury for months. The naked desperation on her face as she begs a demon for relief is excruciating.

Something snaps inside Faith, and she ducks out into the alley for a smoke.

She's through her last two cigarettes by the time Spike slinks out the door she came, followed shortly by Buffy, who gives a soft, "Hey," at his retreating back.

Faith stills, quietly stubbing the cigarette out with the toe of her boot. Spike is turning to face Buffy, but neither of them have noticed her. She watches, a familiar emotion twisting painfully inside her.

They start singing, and Faith jolts, recognizing part of the tune she's been humming for days. When she refocuses, they're kissing, and –

"Hey!" she shouts, striding forward without thinking and watching them break apart in surprise. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Faith!" Buffy says, startled. She wipes at her mouth. "It doesn't – it doesn't mean anything."

Faith can't even look at her. She comes up to Spike, who, she realizes in some back corner of her mind, is smirking. Faith decks him easily, fist connecting with his nose, and then, suddenly, comes back to herself. She shakes her hand a little, stretching her fingers, watching Spike curled defenselessly on the pavement.

A hand grabs her, swinging her around. Buffy's eyes are bright with anger as she says, "What are you –"

Faith grabs her by the shoulders. "You died," she starts, then freezes. Swallows. "And drew me here to you," she sings.

She tries to keep it under her breath, but it's been festering inside her, these words she never meant to form. Buffy's expression goes slack, her eyes widening, her arms hanging at her side.

"But now I just don't know – what I'm s'posed to do," she continues. "I think I've always cared too much – and now it's coming true."

Faith takes a deep breath. Buffy looks to the side, avoiding Faith's gaze, but Faith doesn't let go.

"I know – you wanna disappear – There's nothing left inside of you – nothing to hold you here – So tell me why you look at me – like I am something dear?"

Faith hears Spike getting to his feet behind her.

"I think I've missed a piece," Faith murmurs, trailing off as the song finally releases her. She lets go of Buffy.

TABULA RASA

"Hey," Spike snorts. "That's my song!"

Faith doesn't look at him. She spins and wrenches her hands through her hair, anxiety becoming anger at her own loss of control.

Buffy just stands there.

Faith rounds on her. "What the fuck were you doing? _Him?_ He's – he's disgusting. Are you fucking him?"

Buffy turns to her slowly, her arms crossed, eyes icy. "Where have you been, Faith? I needed –" She stops, swallows, looks down and then back up. "And where were you?"

Spike is laughing, now. "Oh, god," he says. "This is _truly_ hilarious." He wipes blood from his nose, looks at his hand, smears it on his pants.

He locks eyes with Faith and smirks some more. "I'm not the only dark thing in love with golden girl here, am I?"

The way he says _dark thing_ reverberates painfully inside Faith's skull. Buffy scoffs, the sound of it too big for this narrow conversation. Faith's head swivels.

"Faith's a slayer. And she's not –" Buffy takes a quick breath, clenches and unclenches her fist. " _I'm_ a slayer," she says, changing the subject. "Are you saying I'm a ‘dark thing,' too?"

"Yes," Spike chuckles ruefully, cruelly. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, love."

Faith opens her mouth, but Buffy's quicker.

"No," Buffy says. "No. She's like _me_. She's on _my_ side. You – you're beneath me."

Faith expects something different than the slow, sick grin that spreads across Spike's face.

"Maybe, pet," he says. "But _you_ –" he points a finger at Buffy – " _like_ it. I may have been second choice for a rendezvous, but you want _her_ for the same reason." He cocks his head, his gaze intent. "We're dirt, and you wanna roll in it."

There's a flurry, then, of Buffy's hair and Faith's, of their fists flying into the vampire between them until he goes down, wheezing, his blood staining the street. They pause, panting, and Faith looks up to see Buffy staring at her, her eyes terrified.

"Buffy –" she tries to say.

Buffy's expression sharpens into anger, albeit a weak one, a mask. Her fist flies again. Faith goes down next to Spike.

By the time she pulls herself up to a sitting position, Buffy's gone.

Spike is heaving breaths, blue and purple bruises blooming on his face. "That's our girl," he says warmly, as though he knows this is a shared sentiment.

Faith ignores the mingled pride and jealousy in her gut that proves him right. She stares at him, stands, spits.

"You'll get out of town if you don't want to die a very slow and painful second death," Faith says. She runs a hand through her hair, dabs at her now busted lip. "You're right, actually. We're not good enough for her. But I'll be damned if I don't try to deserve her."

Spike's eyes narrow and his mouth opens, but Faith doesn't want to hear it. "And that includes sweeping up your _dust_ if I ever see you again."

##

Faith can't seem to give in to sleep that night. It threatens, and she's exhausted, but she finds herself rousing at the slightest noises from the house above and around her. In the morning, she hears Buffy and Giles leave, and finally gets up.

She paces awhile.

Spike calling her dirt is one thing; she's learned at great personal cost to let others' opinions of her go. For the most part, anyway. It was one of the benefits of prison time.

The way he'd said it, though, including himself in the insult and smirking, as though it was something he _wanted_ to be.

Hell, Faith's called _herself_ worse things than dirt. She's spent time truly believing it was all she was worth, even pretending she liked it. But she's never truly _wanted_ it.

When she thinks about what she does want to be, she just pictures Buffy, and then her thoughts get muddled. What's the difference between wanting someone and wanting to be them and wanting to be good enough for them?

So, fine, Spike was right about the directions Faith's thoughts tend to go. Is he right about what Buffy wants? And the thing, the big thing, is that if he is, then how could Faith ever refuse her?

She thinks of Angel, suddenly, and takes a deep breath. Recompense, reparation, redemption, amends, atonement. He used to casually throw around words like these during his visits, and Faith would smile gamely, pretending his belief in her wasn't crucial to the point of agony. He knew what he was doing, though. Even when she had hated him, he'd known her.

She misses him, she realizes. Things are always – clear, when he's around. Faith can focus. See the big picture.

Her thoughts shift back, and she wonders if he would feel betrayed. But if it was for _Buffy_ , and not for Faith. Would that be different?

It's all a mess. But it's Buffy that matters, in the end, she decides, and she hopes Angel would agree.

##

Faith heads to the Magic Box, where she assumes Buffy and Giles went, sneaking into the training room through the alley out of habit. She comes up short when she sees Giles on the low couch, glasses off, his head in his hands.

She keeps walking into these awkward emotional confrontations, or their aftermath. Faith draws a hand through her hair, a nervous tic, as he looks up at her.

"Well," he says. "Hi, Faith. I suppose you heard." He sighs, standing, and she doesn't correct him.

"Always walking into some kind of turmoil, seems like. Don't worry," she says off his look. "Makes me feel at home."

Giles laughs, weakly. "Yes, well. Best get it over with. Shall we?"

She follows him through to the shop to find the rest of the gang there, Willow and Xander having just arrived. Faith's eyes swing to Buffy, crouched on the stairs to the loft.

"I'm glad you're all here," Giles begins. He glances hesitantly at Buffy, who turns petulantly away.

Faith frowns.

"I have something to tell you, again, though it feels like we've just done this."

"Can you – just," Buffy interrupts, "cut to the chase?"

There's a short, tense pause as everyone looks at her and then quickly back at Giles. Willow looks guilty again, which Faith is pleased to note.

"Of course," Giles continues. "I'm, uh, headed back to England. To stay, this time. Indefinitely."

A shocked murmur breaks out, and questions are pitched, and in the emotional fallout Buffy standing abruptly goes unnoticed until she says, "I can't do this," with a tremor running through her voice.

She stalks toward the door, and is within a few arms' reach of Faith before she turns because Willow is trying to apologize.

Faith finds her hand unconsciously outstretched. She pulls it back.

"I know this must be awful for you, and I – I'm sorry –"

"Back _off_ , Red," Faith says. All her uncertainty and guilt and frustration channel themselves suddenly into the clarity of anger at the one person who really deserves it. Besides herself, anyway.

"I know everyone wants to pretend like it's not for the sake of your feelings," she says, "but this is _your fault_. You can't keep badgering her to forgive you just so you can feel better about it being _your fault_. So back off, or you and me can talk about this some more outside."

"Excuse me? Why the hell should I listen to you, you gigantic hypocrite!"

Faith take a step forward, and then her eyes droop, blackness descending, and she slumps to the floor.

##

She comes awake in darkness to the sound of someone stirring nearby. She opens her eyes and remains cautiously still. She flinches – she doesn't recognize… anything: where she is, who she is, who these other people are.

Self-defense tactics kick in. She moves quietly behind the nearest object, a low cabinet of some kind, and watches as, after a moment, the girl who was next to her stands. The girl is pretty, with long blonde hair and expressive eyes and a soft, hesitant mouth. The girl moves to turn on the lights and her hair turns golden.

She doesn't know why, but the girl feels… familiar. There's a warm sense of kinship unfolding inside her that nearly leads her to reveal herself.

With the lights on, the other people in this – now that's she's looking around – strange shop are waking up, too. There's a boy and a red-haired girl, neither of whom she thinks seem trustworthy. She takes this instinct at face-value. There's an older man wiping drool from the woman whose shoulder he was sleeping on, who is also blonde. Across the table from them is yet another blonde-ish woman.

She looks down at her own hair, but it's brown.

There's also a younger girl, in her teens, with long, straight brown hair who is clearly frightened. She feels a burgeoning sense of protectiveness to this one; something about being alone, about having to fend for herself much sooner than she should have to, makes her want to take up a metaphorical shield.

This sentiment is apparently shared by the first blonde girl, who moves toward the younger girl with ease and speaks calmly.

Alexander, Willow, Tara; Rupert and Anya. Names float around as everyone figures out who they are. She checks her own pockets, but they're empty.

The young girl is Dawn. The golden girl dubs herself Joan. They argue a little, and then –

"Do you think we're –"

"Sisters?"

They grin and hug and something is clawing inside her chest at the word. _Sister_. Her breathing shallows and she stands, reflexively, her hand at her chest.

Joan turns with a soft surety that tells her Joan has known she was there the whole time. She comes toward her slowly, her hand reaching. "Hey," she says, and her voice is soothing. "Are you ok?"

"I'm," she says, and trails off. She feels a little panicky. "I don't know. I don't know who I am."

"It's ok," Joan says, and smiles. She reaches for her hand and pulls her toward Dawn. "What should we call you?"

She shrugs, and the movement is natural, practiced. She smooths her face to match the gesture. That feels familiar, too.

"Can I name you, then?" Joan asks, and makes a _hm_ sound, looking over her face. "How about… Marina."

She can't help the slow smile that spreads over her face. It doesn't hit her with the thrumming rightness that ‘sister' did, but it… fits. It feels good, like trying on new clothes in the right size. Part of it comes from being named instead of finding one within herself; there's a touch of possession and protectiveness that makes her feel warm. Part of it comes from being named by Joan. Like she's meant to belong to this girl with the sure hands and vulnerable eyes, to look up to her.

"So," Tara says, "what do we do now?"

Marina tucks her smile away but stays close to Dawn and Joan. She looks around as Joan quietly takes charge, catching an odd, puzzled glance from Willow.

"I think the hospital's our best bet."

 

"Um, yes! Let's, uh – let's – head out," Rupert says, disentangling himself from Anya's fiddling with his tie. Marina thinks she likes them.

The group slowly gathers together and prepares to leave the shop. "Um," Marina says quietly to Joan. "I don't think I like hospitals very much."

Uneasiness must be plain on her face, or else Joan is good at reading it. "I don't think I do, either, but it seems like the safest way to figure out what's wrong," she whispers back. Her hand finds Marina's and squeezes.

And then they open the door, and everyone screams. There are two men with sharp teeth and disfigured faces. Joan slams the door shut again and they all cower below the window.

"Did you guys see that?"

"Vampires!" says Anya.

There's that thrumming rightness again, like the gong of a bell inside her. She looks at Joan and knows that they've both felt it.

The – vampires – are pounding at the door and window, now. "Where's Spike!" they shout.

"Spike?" Marina asks. "Is that a person? What kind of name is Spike?"

"Monsters are _real_ ," Joan says. "Did we know this?"

"We n-need our memories back," Tara says. "We've got to get to a hospital."

Joan nods. Rupert wants to fight them, and Marina's inclined to agree. She skulks around the corner of a bookcase, finds a basket with – stakes, she thinks. That feels right. She trusts the instinct and brings them back, handing some to Joan.

More pounding. "Slayer! Let out Spike!"

"‘Slay her!' That's just what they said before." Tara's face goes all horrified. "Do they want to kill someone?"

"A female someone!" Joan says, indignant. "Who do those jerks think they are?"

"Bloodsuckers," Anya says steadily. "They kill by sucking blood. Take it easy, Joan."

Marina laughs, startling herself with it. She shrugs, brandishing a stake. "Then let's give them a spike," she says.

Willow and Alex return from scouting out the shop with the news that there's a way out via the sewers. Unfortunately, they only make it about three feet before the monsters crash through the window, and everyone screams and stumbles back. Joan throws out her arms to cover Dawn on one side and Marina on the other; Marina mirrors the gesture for Anya and Tara, behind her.

"Where's Spike?" one of the vampires says, approaching menacingly. "We just want what he owes us. Let us have Spike and we'll leave."

"He's – he's not here!" Joan says valiantly.

The vampire growls and flings himself at her, tearing her away from the group. Marina huddles the rest of them backward, eyeing the other vampire. "Oh well," this one says. "Guess we'll settle for a nice snack."

Marina throws her arms up in defense and kicks. She hears a roar of pain from the other side of the room, and then Joan pulls the second vampire back from Marina.

"Stay away from her!" Joan says, and plunges a stake into his chest. He... explodes.

Everyone stares.

The first vampire edges backward, toward the door. "The boss ain't gonna like this!" he yells, but he's too slow, and Marina still has a stake. She leaps at him, knocking him down. Following Joan's example, she thrusts the pointy end of her weapon where his heart is. A cloud of dust replaces him.

"What – what did you guys do?" someone says.

"I don't know," Joan says, her face melting from shock into excitement. "But it was _cool_."

Marina grins. She steps toward Joan, and they high five.

"We're, like, superheroes or something!" Joan says.

Marina slams the door shut, and finds a switch that brings the bars down over the now empty window. "There's more of them out there," she says.

"Right, here's the plan." Joan looks in her element. "They seem to want this Spike person and don't care that he's not here. They're gonna attack again. We should all go out through this trap door to the sewers, and make our way to a hospital from there."

"I'm not leaving the shop," Anya says. "I have to protect the cash register and – do some spells."

"It's not safe," Joan argues. "We've got to stay together and get our memories back." She grabs Dawn's and Marina's hands, leading the way. "Let's go."

##

The sewers are dank and smelly, but strangely spacious. They travel through them for what feels like a half mile or so, and then, because no one knows where they are or where a hospital might be, make their way above ground. After a few blocks on the busiest street they find, there's a sign to point the way.

"Excuse me," Joan says politely to the nurse at the desk when they walk in. "We need help getting our memories back."

"Um," the nurse says. She looks over the eight people gathered before her. "Oh dear, not again," she mutters. "Why don't you wait over there," she says, gesturing. "I'll get someone."

After a while they're directed to another floor. Marina notes that they've been taken to a psychiatry unit, and panic starts to flutter in her throat again. She moves closer to Joan and grabs her hand. Joan swallows and sets her jaw and grips right back. It should probably hurt, but neither of them ease up.

A doctor comes by after another wait, and starts to take Rupert by himself into an examination room.

"Wait," Joan says. "No, not separately. We want to stay together."

The doctor hesitates, sighs, and leads them all into the room. A nurse comes in as well, and for the next half hour, they perform routine examinations: the flashlight in the eyes, the hammer to the knee, stethoscope to the chest. The doctor asks questions all the while; his patience is growing visibly thin at receiving answers in various forms of ‘I don't know.'

"Listen, there's nothing –" he starts to say, but the nurse interrupts.

"Doctor, there's a strange reading on this machine?"

Willow moves to stand next to Tara as the doctor crosses the room.

"Oh," the nurse says, his voice confused. "It stopped."

The doctor frowns, and turns. "You," he says, pointing at Willow. "Come back over here."

"Um, ok?" Willow says. She steps back, and everyone watches the machine as its dial's arm swings around a clock-like face.

"Strange," the doctor says. "There's some kind of – low-level radiation, or –" He grips Willow's shoulders impartially with one hand, turning her slowly while holding the machine's sensor in his other. He stops, the sensor hovering over the pocket of Willow's blouse.

"What's in here?"

"I – I don't – know?"

Willow looks confused at first, but as Marina watches she sees something else flit across her face: a half-remembered thought, a secret she doesn't recollect but doesn't want revealed.

"Um, thank you," Rupert says, "for your time." He's frowning at Willow. "We don't want to take up more of it. We'll be on our way."

The doctor doesn't particularly want to let them leave, Marina can tell, but neither does he have a reason to keep them. They head back toward town; near the edge of the hospital campus, Rupert turns to Willow.

"What's in your pocket?"

Willow is clutching it possessively. Alex and Tara have backed away, their arms crossed in mingled concern and a hesitant, instinctual betrayal.

"It's magic, isn't it," Anya says. "I knew we weren't drunk! Rupey, we have to break whatever spell she cast. That's how we'll get our memories back."

Rupert holds out his hand.

"No!" Willow says. "It's not – I don't know what it is, but I'm sure it's not – _bad_ –"

Marina scoffs. "Come on, Red," she says, and pauses briefly at the nickname. "Cough it up."

Willow is breathing a little heavily, but it's clear there's no way out. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a black crystal about an inch long. She holds it gingerly in her palm.

Rupert adjusts his glasses on and leans in. "Hm," he says, and then grabs it, throws it to the sidewalk, and steps on it.

There's a green _whoosh_ and the remains of the crystal lay, clear and sparkling, on the pavement. Everyone shudders back a half step.

Stillness seems to hang on the air for a moment, and then Buffy falls to her knees, gasping in breaths.

Everyone else is so focused on Willow, they've barely noticed. Faith kneels at Buffy's side. "Hey," she says, touching her shoulder, her hair, the angle of her jaw, but Buffy stares unseeingly ahead.

"Buffy," Willow mutters plaintively, and Buffy shudders.

"That's it," Faith says, standing. She advances on Willow. "What the _fuck_ is your problem?!"

It's less a decision of the moment and more the conclusion to a long, drawn-out thought when Faith clenches her fist, pulls her arm back, and lets it go. When she blinks, Willow is on the ground three feet away, her hand at her nose and blood oozing across her face.

There's only a few seconds for Faith to enjoy the bitter satisfaction that floods through her before a steady hand grips her shoulder. Faith spins around. She sees Buffy's face, coldly furious, in the instant before her punch lands. It's aimed, cruelly, exactly at last night's split lip. Faith staggers back but doesn't fall.

This time, Buffy doesn't run away. Faith doesn't move, either. She gazes back steadily as Buffy pants and stares.

Behind her, Faith senses the others leaving, Willow trailing reluctantly behind them. Faith and Buffy don't break eye contact. Buffy's limbs are shaking, either with the effort of remaining standing or of not moving, Faith can't tell which.

A minute passes. Buffy swallows, hard; her breathing is more contained now.

"I'm not sorry," Faith says.

"Shut up."

"It's her fault. _All_ of it. I don't get why you –"

"Shut _up_ ," Buffy says, and moves. She storms forward and slams her palm into Faith's chest, moving them off the sidewalk.

Faith nearly falls, stumbling backward at Buffy's brisk pace. "Whoa, whoa," she says, and trails off as they reach a copse of green. A few more steps, and then her back slams against a tree.

She looks back at Buffy, whose eyes have yet to leave her. Faith swallows hard and masks her expression. "What are you gonna do, Buffy, kill me? Finally finish me off, all these years later?"

"Please –" Buffy says, her hand pushing at her again, "– stop talking." Buffy takes a deep breath, leans forward, and kisses her.

Her eyes are wrenched shut but her mouth moves insistently against Faith's, a question mark, a demand that makes Faith want to give her everything she has in answer. She sucks Faith's busted lower lip between her own, lets it out again ungently through her teeth. Faith hisses at the delicious shock of pain and lets slip an abbreviated groan. She leans in, chasing.

How like Buffy it is to hit her and then kiss it better.

Not that Faith is exactly innocent of the same, she thinks, grinning against Buffy's mouth. Her hands settle on Buffy's waist.

Buffy inhales sharply and breaks from her. Her palm keeps Faith against the tree. Faith lets her head loll back, her eyes half-lidded and a smile curling her bruised mouth.

"I'm – sorry," Buffy says, but breathless. She shakes her head, looks away from Faith at last.

"I'm not," Faith replies. The grin slips slowly off her face as Buffy looks panicked again, turning. "Hey. No, wait – Buffy –"

But in the end, Faith lets her go.

SMASHED

Faith doesn't go back to the house that night, or sleep, or even patrol. Her mind is running in overdrive, lending a tension to her limbs that she goes to the Bronze to sweat out.

She still feels a little wobbly and wrong-footed the next day, whether from Willow's spell, or Buffy, or staying up and out all night, she's not entirely sure. Probably all three. She stays in the basement, making liberal use of the punching bag.

Eventually, Faith's thoughts move on from Buffy up in her space, kissing her. She spends a tantalizing few minutes remembering the punch Buffy threw. The way she was sure of that one thing, that she needed to hit Faith. Her eyes had gleamed with it. Faith had made her feel something, even if it was anger. She had been whimpering on the ground, too in pain to even function, but she'd gotten up because of Faith.

Well… not just Faith. She should probably go apologize to Willow. The thought infuriates her, so she continues pummeling the bag until her arms tire. It's good, Faith has found, to keep moving and fighting until her limbs ache; that's when her mind relaxes, and then it's easier to remember she has motivations other than anger.

Following her anger alone took her places she doesn't particularly want to revisit. (Bad places. Like, jail bad, though prison wasn't even the worst of it. Prison was pretty peaceful compared to Buffy looking at her like she truly hated her. She's getting better at remembering that without being sick, though.) She take a slow breath – in, out – and tries to let it go.

It's evening before she heads upstairs for a shower. Buffy's out patrolling, not that Faith was waiting for her to leave, or even paying attention to her movements. She just – wants to give Buffy the space she clearly needs to – sort things out, or whatever.

She's coming down the hall upstairs when she hears Willow say something, and it's not in English. There's a shimmer in the air just behind her cracked-open door. Steeling herself, Faith pads toward her and pushes the door the rest of the way open.

Willow's holding a curled piece of parchment clearly just magicked out of thin air, her face guilty and defiant at Faith's intrusion.

Faith holds her hands up in surrender. "Hey," she says, "just came up for a shower and – thought I should apologize. About the –" she gestures at her own eye, mirroring the one on Willow's face that's a bit purple. "So: I'm sorry I hit you."

"Oh," Willow says, shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Alright. Apology accepted." Her chin juts up a bit, the haughty angle of it an invitation to leave.

"I thought you might have healed it. With the magic and whatever."

Willow stiffens again, and if Faith's not mistaken, her cheeks go slightly pink. Her eyes dart sideways as her fingers come up, dance around the bruise, and lower into a fist. "Don't worry about it," she says.

"Yeah, fine." Faith almost goes and leaves it at that, but: "So, what's up? Doing another spell?"

"Yes." The chin again, but Faith just waits. The chance to brag always loosens Willow's tongue.

"I don't suppose you know about Amy."

Faith frowns. "Was that invisigirl or rat girl?" Smirking at Willow's look, she says, "Buffy told me stories. You know – a while ago."

Willow goes into teacher mode. "Amy was doing spells before I even knew magic was a thing. But she got sort of – stuck," she says, gesturing at a sleek brown rodent nibbling the bed covers. "I've just realized I can un-stick her."

Faith can't help a little smile, but covers it by raising her eyebrows. "Go on, then," she says, but she's – impressed, a little. And this doesn't seem like bad magic. Unless the rat ends up dead, any alternative to the current state's gotta be an improvement.

It's Willow's turn to smirk as she turns back to Amy, parchment held in front of her. A few sentences later, there's a naked woman wearing a terrified expression in place of the rat.

##

The apology checked off, Faith has better things to do than calm a jittery witch. (Two jittery witches. Great.) Namely: wait around until Buffy talks to her.

She showers and calls for pizza. It arrives, she eats. Still no Buffy. Amy and Willow swan out to the Bronze; Faith makes sure her judgmental eyebrow is noted. Dawn and Tara come home from the movies.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Faith," Dawn says. "Where's… everyone else?"

Faith explains about Amy and Willow, already feeling sorry for Tara. "And Buffy – hasn't come back from patrolling yet."

Dawn looks upset at this, which makes Faith's mind up. "Listen, Tara, you mind staying with the kid until the girls are back? I'm gonna go find Buffy, make sure she's alright."

"Of course," Tara says, but there's a moment where she's assessing Faith, a small smile playing around her mouth.

##

A bit anticlimactically, Faith finds Buffy almost immediately, walking slowly among a cluster of crypts. Her hair's tied up and her arms are wrapped around herself, though the night isn't chilly.

"Hey," Faith says.

Buffy stops, but doesn't turn, her back to Faith.

"I, uh," Faith says. She shoves a hand into her hair, not sure how to get to whatever will come next.

"I don't wanna talk to you right now," Buffy says, after a moment.

Faith sighs. "I'm sorry about punching Willow. I told her so to her face, even." Buffy's shoulders relax a little. "But I'm still not sorry about the other thing, which is all you, anyway, so even if I was sorry –"

This might have been the wrong thing to say.

"God!" Buffy whirls to face her and comes forward, glowering. "You must be just _loving_ this," Buffy says.

"I mean..."

"Not that it's a big deal to _you_ , you – flirt all the time, with everyone! And, and kissing at inappropriate times, like it's –"

Buffy stalls, not finding the right word. Faith is distracted by her fuming, flustered expression until Buffy throws a punch instead. Caught off-guard, Faith takes it on the chin and spins with the impact.

"Like that. Simple – easy." She pushes at Faith's shoulders. "You _hated_ me! And fought me and then kissed me, like it was a game, like it was just – something you do without thinking about it."

"I never hated you."

Buffy swings again, and Faith ducks.

"I tried to forget it! But you're always _here_ –"

"Buffy," Faith says, wanting to reassure her somehow.

"It's not my fault!"

She knees Faith in the stomach, and Faith groans, doubling over. "What's not – Buffy, listen. _Nothing's_ your fault, nothing –"

Buffy pushes her again, but it's a neutral, lingering touch now, as if just to get her upright again. Faith steps backward and finds her back against a wall.

They're both breathing hard. Her stomach curls.

"You're –" Buffy stops herself, swallowing hard. "I can't do this," she says, and turns away.

Faith grabs her wrist and turns her back around, not letting go. "I'm what?" She licks her lips, watching Buffy's eyes follow the movement.

"A _temptation_ ," Buffy spits, but she doesn't fight out of Faith's grip. "And I can't –"

"Yeah," Faith says, grinning despite Buffy's anguished face. "Yeah, you can. Give in."

It's still a surprise when Buffy does. Her eyes drop to Faith's mouth again; there's a shuddering exhale that Faith feels against her lips as the moment expands between them, enclosing, sheltering them from the press of time.

Buffy's eyes close, but gently, not like last night. When she opens them again she's staring at Faith, and she looks – alive.

 _There's_ that spark.

The hand Faith's not still holding by the wrist comes between them to push her firmly against the wall of the crypt. Faith feels it like a caress. Her shoulders roll back to the cold stone, and Buffy kisses her.

It starts out much gentler than Faith's ever kissed anyone, and she breathes in through her nose to steady herself. Buffy deepens the kiss, her tongue slipping sweetly into Faith's mouth, and Faith's thoughts go a little fuzzy.

Her instincts kick in. Faith's ingrained response to any prolonged touch is to maintain control. A casual touch requires wariness, steeling herself, but generally poses no threat. A kiss does. A kiss means maneuvering, keeping her back outside or on top, her hands stilling wayward limbs.

Faith's unoccupied hand reaches for Buffy's hip. She leans into Buffy, deepening the kiss, and attempts to spin her around.

She finds her movements stymied.

A small, half-panicked noise escapes her throat, and Buffy pulls back just enough to eye her. Her expression is calm now, intent on taking what she wants. "Shh," she says, and leans in to paint Faith's lower lip with her tongue. "Give in," Buffy says, and kisses her again. She takes her time with it. The air grows warmer around them.

Faith breathes and consciously relaxes her strained arms. Her hands, though, grip tighter than ever. Buffy doesn't offer a protest, though Faith is sure there will be bruises left behind.

Buffy smoothes her hand up Faith's collarbone to cradle her jaw. Faith finds herself making awful little whimpering noises, not knowing how to deserve this, this incongruous softness. It's only when Buffy's other hand slips from hers that she realizes her hold went lax; it tangles in Faith's hair. Faith lets it linger a moment (or several – she's never been known to be unselfish) then chases it, twining their fingers together and bringing them down to her hip.

Buffy's other hand encircles Faith's throat, gentle, but pressing lightly.

Faith gasps, wrenching open eyes that had apparently drifted shut. Something unintelligible passes her lips. She can't tell whether she's panicking or enthralled.

Buffy's eyes blaze, watching expressions flit rapidly across Faith's face. "There's my girl," she whispers.

Faith's knees go weak; her hips jerk into Buffy's.

She supposes distantly that settles the question. She thinks, _Oh_. It's freeing.

Buffy presses closer still. She smells flowery and sweet and she drags her lips along Faith's jaw, mouths kisses on her neck. Faith reaches up to pull Buffy's hair tie out and runs her fingers through the gold that falls on her shoulders.

"Buffy," Faith says, and it comes out a little raspy. She swallows, a thick movement against Buffy's fingers. She clutches Buffy's other wrist again as her thumb strokes Faith's throat, a reassurance. It grounds both of them: Yes, they are here. This is who they are to each other, right now.

Buffy's pulse has quickened; Faith can feel the beat of it everywhere. Her own hammers in response as Buffy brings their joined hands between them. She pushes against Faith's hand in invitation.

Faith undoes the button and zip on Buffy's jeans and slides her hand down, groaning involuntarily at the wetness she finds. She slips two fingers through it, then one inside. Buffy inhales sharply. She hitches a knee around one of Faith's legs and braces her left hand against the wall behind them. For several long moments they simply gaze at each other, breathing, as Faith's hand moves.

Faith crooks her finger and slips in another, watching the line of Buffy's throat as her head falls back. There's a bite scar there.

Jealousy rears its head again, but melts warmly into possession. Faith wants to lean in and taste the scar, leave a bite mark of her own. She swallows, hard, just to feel the sensation of being held still. Her mouth falls open, wanton.

"Faith," Buffy says, her voice strained and almost a whisper. Faith's knees wobble again.

She's so transfixed on Buffy's face, she almost misses the moment when she releases her neck and her hand drifts lower. Fingers trail delicately over her collarbone, then down, slipping beneath the hem of Faith's tee. Her warm palm smooths over Faith's stomach, cupping a breast, rubbing the pad of a thumb over her nipple. Exploratory.

"God," Faith grinds out, a little breathless. She can't remember the last time someone touched her like this – the last time she let anyone.

Her breathing labored now, Buffy's hand works at Faith's jeans, and she follows the example Faith set.

"Fuck," Faith breathes, and leans forward to capture Buffy's mouth in a rough kiss.

No one would expect it of her, but she hasn't let a girl in her pants since before she was called. She doesn't mind giving it to a girl, but being on the receiving end seems so much more... vulnerable. She prefers to pick up guys. They're easy: push them down, wriggle a little, hold their wrists, get herself off, throw them out.

With girls, though, there's all this _intimacy_.

It isn't that it's easier to let Buffy in, exactly. It's more that Buffy's ghost has already been living under Faith's skin; opening this door is just exorcising the shadow and replacing it with a living, breathing heart.

Buffy makes a delicate keening noise and rocks into her, trembling around Faith's fingers. Faith's focus snaps in two. Buffy kisses her hungrily and she kisses back until Buffy, settling a little, thrusts her fingers a little harder and a little deeper and a little faster.

Faith's head knocks against the wall. "Fuck," she says again, a drawn out expletive that gains an extra, nonsensical syllable as it trails off. "Shit – Buffy," she pants, but Buffy's looking at her, all purpose and control. Faith deliberately closes her eyes. Her mouth, babbling now, will probably betray her enough as it is.

"Shh," Buffy says in her ear. She grabs a lock of Faith's hair and pulls until Faith's neck is a straight line. "Come on," she says, kissing her throat. "I've got you."

WRECKED

"Wow." Faith lolls against the wall, eyes half-lidded and her smirk slowly regaining itself. "I sort of thought that would never happen."

There's a huff of breath at her neck, and Buffy rolls elegantly away and straightens next to her. She runs a hand through her hair; it glints at the edges of Faith's vision.

Faith pats her pockets down, looking for a cigarette. "Shit," she mumbles.

"You quit, remember?"

She can hear the smile. "Shit," she says again, dragging out the vowel. A bit of her old accent from lifetimes ago comes through. Faith swivels her head to look at Buffy. " _Kind_ of one of those situations that really calls for one."

Buffy raises her eyebrows in one of her pretending-not-to-be-amused expressions, but Faith thinks she might be blushing a little – or else the pink in her cheeks is leftover.

The moment stretches, because Faith can't help drinking her in like this. The shock of it: Buffy in the dark with her, fair hair tousled, mouth raw, the fly of her jeans still open….

Buffy ducks her head, doing up the button and zip. "Well?" she says. She twists her hair back up. "Shall we slay?"

Faith snorts, but gets off the wall to follow her. "I think we did this backwards."

##

The hush of Sunnydale's sunrise surprises them, beginning its creep over the horizon before they get back to the house. Faith gets a funny feeling about the line of Buffy's shoulders as they head up the walk; sure enough, as she enters the house, like a switch has been flicked, something in her dims.

Tara and Dawn are rousing from where they've slept on the couch. _Oh, shit_ , Faith thinks. She forgot.

Buffy leaps at Dawn's proffered excuse of a big bad to account for the all-nighter, which does sour things to Faith's gut. The self-pity at being either an excuse or an antagonist is chased by guilt, though, as she watches Buffy pet Dawn's hair.

Faith swallows a half dozen unnamed and unexamined feelings that seem to have stuck in her throat. Which is a little sore, still. She swallows another. And then Willow and Amy try to sneak in the back door.

"Oh –" Tara says, and Willow says, "Tara!"

"You didn't come home last night… either?" Buffy asks. Faith can see her guilt inexplicably compounding, and it drives her crazy. How many vamps did Willow dust while she was out?

"And Willow, she's a freaking amazing witch, now!" Amy is saying. "This one blowhard, she made his mouth disappear, thank god, and –"

"Amy –"

"I've, um, g-got to go," says Tara, and hurries from the room. Willow is still calling after her as the front door closes.

It goes all awkward in the kitchen. Faith knows she should probably head downstairs. Her punching bag beckons, offering a more effective method of decompressing than burying her feelings about everything that happened tonight. But –

"Well, I… I should probably get some rest," Buffy says, after Amy's made her own exit. She doesn't look at Faith.

Oh.

"Yeah, me too," says Willow, following Buffy up the stairs.

Dawn takes a deep breath and holds it a moment. "Right," she says, under her breath. She looks up, and seems surprised that Faith is there.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Ugh. Don't call me that."

Faith grins. "Right, sorry. You're all grown up now. Sneaking out, making time with dead guys –"

"Well, this has been a fun conversation," Dawn interrupts, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

"Wait, wait," Faith says, stifling a laugh. "I get it. You gotta make a name for yourself. ‘Cause no one is really –" She gestures vaguely. "– You know. Seeing you."

Dawn revolves slowly on the spot to face her again, looking wary.

Faith shrugs. "I get it," she says again.

Dawn quirks her head to the side, assessing. Her expression has softened a little.

"Although," Faith continues, clutching dramatically at her heart, "it's kind of spooky seeing you take after big sis."

Dawn scoffs. "As _if_ she was ever as bad as me."

"Ah, kiddo," Faith says, and smiles nostalgically, and wants to reach out and tousle her hair. "Hey, I got a punching bag downstairs I'm itching to get my hands on. Wanna go a round? Bet I can teach you a thing or two."

Dawn raises her eyebrows, but there's a smile on her lips and a gleam kindling in her expression.

Faith cracks her knuckles and grins again. "By the time we're done, you can add ‘wicked right hook' to your rap sheet."

##

"Faith?"

She's become used to her home down here in the basement. It's quiet and dark and cool, and no one ever comes down here, not for weeks, and then it was just Buffy, when she was quiet and dark and cool. Just now, though, there are feet pounding down the stairs and she's already standing, the switchblade from under her pillow in her hand.

"Faith! You're here, thank god. Dawn's gone – I don't know where she is –"

Buffy looks more agitated then Faith can ever remember seeing her. She pulls on a pair of jeans and folds the knife shut, slipping it in her pocket.

"Could she be out with Janice again?"

Buffy stares at her blankly. "Janice?"

"Her friend, from Halloween."

"Oh. Right. Um."

"Let's give her mom a call," Faith says, grabbing a jacket and following Buffy upstairs.

The house is very quiet.

"She says Janice is home, and Dawn's not there. Faith –" Buffy brings a trembling hand up to cover her eyes. "I don't know what to do –"

"Hey, hey," Faith says. "It's ok. Willow's not here?"

Buffy looks up. She shakes her head.

There's a crashing sound suddenly from upstairs. Faith is turning into the hall seconds later to see – Amy.

##

So, fine, all they have to do is hunt down this Rack guy. They can't see the entrance to his magic dope den and it _moves_ but it's fine. Faith's definitely fine, not surfing on a wave of Willow-related rage, and Buffy, walking stiffly with her arms held close to her chest, is also completely and totally –

Faith sighs, forcibly relaxes her shoulders, stretches her neck back and forth until it cracks. "Buffy."

"It's ok," Buffy says immediately. She sounds miserable.

"...Alright. Listen, though, it's not your fault."

Buffy lets out a soft, humorless laugh. "So you said."

"I mean, the way things have been going, it was bound to happen eventually."

Buffy looks down. She clutches herself tighter. "And it didn't mean anything. I get it."

"What?" Faith says, glancing at her sharply.

"It's ok, you're right. I just need to – get through this whole, you know, life thing and I'll be fine. I can do it own my own. It's probably better that way."

"Whoa," Faith says. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don't think we're talking about the same thing, here." She laughs helplessly. "‘It didn't mean anything'? Are you kidding?"

"What… what did it mean?" Buffy says, so softly that Faith moves a bit closer to her side as they walk.

"Fuckin' hell, B. Didn't I _say_ I've been thinking about that for years? I mean, you're all so much smarter than me, I assumed everyone had figured out I was in love with you before I ever did."

Buffy makes a sound like she's had the wind kicked out of her, but in slow motion, with the volume turned all the way down. Her eyes are fixed on the pavement ahead of them. "Oh," she says, wonderingly.

Faith tugs a hand through her hair. "On second thought, maybe I should've said – not that."

"No," Buffy says. "No, I'm just – a bunch of stuff just started making sense, and I think – I don't know. I... worried."

"About what?"

Buffy looks at her, then turns her gaze ahead again. She's silent for awhile. "Everything's been just – slightly different," she says carefully, "since I came back. Sometimes I wake up, or I turn around, or I look at you, and I'm not sure if any of it is real."

Faith realizes she's holding her breath. She lets it out in a long exhale.

"The other night was –"

Faith looks at her. A pretty pink blush is creeping onto her cheeks.

"It was real. I didn't lose myself, like I've been doing; I felt grounded, life was – vivid, for a little bit." She shakes her head. "I can't – I don't want to lose that, but... I don't want to use you just to save myself, either. It wouldn't be fair."

Faith rather thinks it's unfair she can feel an ache where the word ‘love' from Buffy's lips would fit, right in her chest, an incision from where she let the same word escape her own mouth.

She opens her mouth, staring at Buffy. She closes it again.

Buffy's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "Wait, what was bound to happen?"

"Oh," Faith says. "Willow."

Buffy's mouth twists, but suddenly she looks past Faith, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "Did you hear something?"

Faith listens for a beat, and then it comes again: a particularly Dawn-ish scream. They run toward it.

##

After, Faith walks Dawn, who leans on her the whole way, to the hospital. They don't say much, because Dawn is hurt and Faith can't think of anything that wouldn't be related to Willow and also extremely rude. Faith did offer to carry her, and Dawn had let out a shaky laugh, in spite of herself.

Buffy meets them there after she's dealt with Willow & seen her home. "Do you mind," Buffy asks uncertainly, "keeping watch on – the house? While I stay with Dawn?"

Faith sits on the couch for hours with the muted television to keep her company, listening for sounds other than the shower, or sobs, or the restless creaking of a mattress.

When Buffy comes home, she whispers a soft but fervent thank you to Faith. She puts Dawn to bed and peeks in at Willow, who is asleep or pretending to be. She walks quietly out to the top of the stairs. "Faith," she says quietly, catching her before she's all the way into the dining room. Faith steps back and looks up at her.

Buffy swallows. "Goodnight."

GONE

Faith didn't realize she'd drifted to sleep until she's woken, too early, by a stranger's voice in the house. She's approaching the front door as a short woman is saying, "– something I'm not convinced an unemployed young woman like yourself can provide."

Faith raises her eyebrows.

The woman scoffs as she notices her. "Another one?" she asks Buffy, imperiously, and Buffy flounders.

"Yeah," Faith says, immediately wincing at her own aggressive tone. She take a brief moment to gentle her temper. "Untraditional, I guess, but we all came together after her mom's – passing."

Buffy, who has been staring warily at Faith, flinches and looks down.

"We wanted to help, to support Buffy and Dawn. Willow," Faith says, jerking a thumb in the vague direction of the upstairs bedrooms, "is going to school full-time. She's brilliant. I work – you can see the checks if you want – and Buffy has..."

"A rich uncle!" Buffy says after an instant of hesitation. "Who died. Last year. And left me an inheritance. Plus my dad's child support. You can see, you know, all of that, if it helps."

The woman is clearly wrong-footed, now, and Faith smiles inwardly. "I see," she says eventually. "Well. We'll be in touch if we have any questions."

Buffy waves and smiles her cheerfully away, then sinks against the door as she closes it. "Oh my god," she says, a hand over her eyes. She looks up. "Thank you. Again," she says, sounding surprised but earnest.

"I'm good at improvising," Faith grins.

Buffy almost smiles back. The moment stretches.

Faith takes a step forward, carefully, measuring Buffy's response. Her eyes widen marginally; Faith thinks she sees the beginning of a blush. She takes another step.

She takes a third and reaches out gently, twining a lock of golden hair around her finger. The sight of it against her skin is thrilling.

"I've been thinking I should cut it," Buffy says abruptly.

Faith startles, looking at her. "Oh." She drops the lock, her hand hanging lamely at her side.

Buffy draws a breath to speak, closes her mouth, opens it again. "It's just – sort of – it feels dead," she says, wincing. "Every time I look at it –"

"Oh," Faith says again, but comprehending this time. "Yeah, you should cut it, then. Although –"

Buffy looks at her questioningly.

Faith grins and shrugs. "I'll miss it."

There's a beat, and Buffy's eyes drop to Faith's mouth. Faith is just leaning slowly in again when an unwelcome voice joins them.

"Buffy?" Willow calls from upstairs, and Buffy jolts away. "I'm not feeling hot, so I'm gonna take a quick nap, okay?"

"Ok, Wil!" Buffy chirps back, and it's guilty-sounding, her hands clasping each other in restraint. "Well –" she says too brightly to Faith, "– gonna go get that done then. So. I guess I'll – see you. Later."

##

In fact, Faith doesn't.

She's minding her business downstairs, taking out various aggressions on the punching bag, when fingernails suddenly trail gently over her bicep. Faith spins, but there's nothing there now but a familiar huff of soft laughter.

"Hi, Faith," says Buffy's voice warmly.

"Um." Faith reaches tentatively forward, but now there's a leg brushing hers from behind, a hand twisting into her hair. Her eyes threaten to drift shut when the hand tugs, pulling her head back, and another hand circles her waist. "Buffy."

"Mm," Buffy says in agreement, and kisses the side of her throat. "I'm having a fun kind of day. How ‘bout you?"

"It's – uh. Looking up?"

Buffy laughs, and she sounds so _giddy_. Faith is struck suddenly with that same dissonance from when she met the robot imposter: this is a Buffy she's never known. More kisses pepper down her neck and around, across the nape of her neck.

Faith gasps a little when Buffy's teeth greet her collarbone. Hands tug her shirt upward. "Buffy," she says, trying to suss out which one she's talking to. Trying to reconcile the two. "Wait."

"What for?"

Her shirt is gone now and warm hands settle at her hips, steering Faith back toward her cot. Faith plants her feet, obstinate.

Buffy sighs. "Really? I was looking forward to seeing you," she says as her hands pluck teasingly at Faith's bra. "Unlike last time."

"But I don't get to see you?" Faith mutters. "No, this is weird."

"I can't help that I'm invisible. It's not like I _asked_ for it."

"Actually, that's not the weird part," Faith says. "It's kind of hot. But it's weird to hear you, like, giggle. I don't even know who you are when you're not half mad at me."

Silence. Faith listens carefully for movements, bracing for – impact, of one kind or another. "Buffy. Are you sure –" She swallows, keeping emotion out of her voice. "Are you sure this is what you want? With me?"

"I thought it was what _you_ wanted," comes Buffy's voice, petulant. "What do you mean, you don't know me? I'm not allowed to enjoy this?"

"That's not – it's just not what we do. You yell, and I tease you, and lately we fight and make out and it's almost the same thing. It was always the same thing. But I don't know how to handle…"

"Happy stuff?" Incredulous.

Faith shrugs. A tense quiet sits between them for a moment, and Faith can feel Buffy's gaze on her, heavy. "Especially when I can't see you. It's hard to know it's even really you."

"Oh, of course!" Buffy says. "I thought – but no. As usual, there's something wrong with Buffy."

She starts to storm off but Faith, ready, grabs and catches an elbow. "I just mean – if I can't have all of you –"

"See," Buffy says, and wrenches out of Faith's grasp. "I told you it was unfair."

##

Later, Faith hears Dawn yelling, all high-pitched and agonized, and instead of her own room she comes storming down to the basement. She comes to a stop & stands, uncertainly, her arm in a sling, in front of where Faith is doing push-ups.

Faith bends her right arm across her back and continues, one-handed. "Hey, kid."

Dawn scoffs, and walks around to sit on the cot. "Show-off."

Faith laughs, because it's hard to shrug in the middle of a push-up. "I heard you shrieking. What's up?"

"Ugh," Dawn says.

Faith lets the silence stretch; it's not uncomfortable. She switches arms.

"Buffy's being –"

Faith hits 50 counts and sits, turning to face Dawn. She stretches her arms, patient. Upstairs the phone rings, and is answered almost immediately.

"I hate when she's like this. She's never like this. Like she doesn't care about anything."

"Yeah," Faith agrees. "She's been weird today."

A beat. "Do you think she's – ok? I mean, I know she wasn't before, but. Do you think she will be? Again?"

Faith exhales. The front door opens and closes upstairs; she grimaces. "I think so," she says carefully. "I think it's just gonna take some more time."

"Am I –" Dawn swallows almost audibly. "Am I doing this wrong?"

"No," Faith says immediately around the squeeze of her heart. "No, you're not. You gotta be honest with her. Yell at her if you need to. I think she needs that sometimes, more than the pussy-footing around she gets from the others."

She stands. "Now come on. That left hook of yours needs work."

DOUBLEMEAT PALACE

The next time Buffy comes downstairs, both Faith's shirt and her bra end up on the floor. Faith gets to see her, too.

Buffy doesn't apologize. Faith doesn't ask her to.

##

"The things you do," Faith says, love-drunk in the dark, the words spilling out of her without regard for consequence. She feels her eyelids drooping as sleep approaches. "Hurts in all the right places."

Buffy finishes dressing and walks upstairs, slowly, trailing her fingers uncertainly on the bannister.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt at the beginning of this chapter from [HOLY GIRLS](http://agooduniverse.tumblr.com/post/97211804703) by agooduniverse. Excerpt at the end from [2 girls kissing on a porch in summer](http://clarkierys.tumblr.com/post/145841043074) by clarkierys.
> 
> This is now complete! If you're interested in a soundtrack of sorts with songs i listened to on heavy rotation while writing this, you can find that [here](http://redcheekdays.dreamwidth.org/25554.html).

_i think, "that can't be right,"  
but you press my knuckles  
to your teeth, you tell me  
you don't mind the blood_

(DEAD THINGS)

It’s the time after that, and Faith is getting used to the way Buffy’s teeth fit over her collarbone, the way her lips and tongue graze gently over the bite marks she leaves, as if she can taste the copper blooming just below the skin. She knows the way Buffy’s hands clutch in her hair, tugging deliciously; she knows the new way her own limbs surrender loosely in response.

Buffy hasn’t giggled or been – the friend part of friendly, since she was invisible, so Faith has let their argument (was it an argument? It’s hard to tell, when neither of them have the bruises to show for it after) go. She’s the Buffy Faith has always known, even if the fooling around part is new. Faith still thinks about that other Buffy, though, the lambent one she caught a glimpse of. Sometimes it aches a little to think that she may never know her, that she may never know the whole Buffy.

But for now, there’s this.

“Funny,” Buffy is saying into Faith’s mouth, “how I keep landing on top.”

Faith opens her eyes. Buffy’s are gleaming, a wicked grin on her lips as she leans back in to kiss Faith’s jaw.

Faith growls, clutching at Buffy’s bare hips and rolling her over. She forgets how narrow the cot is, and so they land on the floor. Faith uses the brief moment Buffy’s stunned into inaction by the fall to secure her wrists, biting her lip and smiling down into Buffy’s face.

“Oof,” Buffy enunciates, but breathless and too late to be a genuine exclamation. She blushes.

Faith kisses across both her cheeks, an unfamiliar tenderness overflowing suddenly. “Buffy,” she says, her mouth trailing over Buffy’s throat and continuing, all the way down. “Let me…”

Buffy’s wrists flex and strain under Faith’s hands, but they don’t fight. Faith closes her eyes at the taste of her, at the little noises Buffy makes, and thinks, _It’s right for me to be here, on my knees for her._

Buffy runs her fingers through Faith’s hair after, gentle, and Faith lets it feel like the beginning of forgiveness. They kiss, soft, tender, and it’s still strange and still new, but Faith feels it click into place somewhere inside. She can’t go back, she realizes. She doesn’t want to.

##

“I’ve been thinking about getting a job. You know, like a normal person does during the day. You think Doublemeat Palace is hiring?”

Faith looks at her. They burst out laughing.

“But seriously,” Faith says, when they’ve settled a little. “You’re better than that.”

##

Patrolling is pretty nice these days. They take their time with it, strolling leisurely through Sunnydale’s various cemeteries. Nothing has posed a serious threat since Faith’s been back in town, whether because she’s stronger (she is) or because two slayers are better than one (also true). Whatever the reason, it saves them a lot of time and effort that is, frankly, in Faith’s opinion, better spent in dark corners with Buffy.

She _knew_ Buffy felt that same after-slay adrenaline kick. A nonfat yogurt is the furthest thing from either of their minds.

They’ve neared the woods on the outskirts of town, which they usually leave alone. Buffy says, barring werewolves, all that haunts them are amorous couples, at which point Faith quirks a suggestive eyebrow, and Buffy shoves her playfully into a tree and kisses her thoroughly.

She pulls abruptly back, some minutes later. “Did you hear that?”

Faith did not.

“Like a – whooshing noise. Oh, that’s a bad, magicky noise, I know it.”

Over Buffy’s shoulder, Faith catches a glimpse of a tall figure in a long, hooded cloak, walking into the trees. It’s gone when she blinks.

Her spine prickles. “B,” she whispers. She turns her head back, feeling Buffy’s hair against her nose as she does – and Buffy is gone.

“Buffy?” But she’s simply not there. Faith shakes out her shoulders and walks into the woods.

 _Faith._ The whisper stops her in her tracks. _You can’t help her._ Now it’s multiple voices, discordant, in her ears. _You can’t help her. You can’t help anyone._

Faith takes another step forward, or she means to. The world flashes like lightning and she sees Buffy, far away. Another flash and she finds herself running.

When she reaches her, Buffy is fighting four demons just like the hooded figure Faith saw. And then the demons are gone, and Buffy is kneeling on the ground, staring at her hands. A flash. A hooded thing runs at Faith, who can’t hear anything above that whooshing sound and all the voices in her head, but her hands are fists and the demon lands on the ground, though she doesn’t remember hitting it.

There’s a girl here and – she disappears again. Another lightning flash. Buffy is staring at her hands, and Faith remembers this, staring at her own hands, covered in blood, no matter how much she scrubbed them, she could still feel it –

“What did I do?”

The world falls silent in an instant, and there’s no one here but Faith and Buffy. Faith takes a deep breath, trying to clear her head. She walks slowly to Buffy.

“She’s dead. I killed her.”

“Buffy.”

“What happened? What did I do?”

Faith scans the area, but there’s nothing – barely a scuffle in the dry leaves littering the ground. And then she sees the body, the girl.

The body is there, but it doesn’t feel _real_ , somehow. Faith should know.

“Let’s go,” she says. “Come on.” She grabs Buffy’s arm, but Buffy isn’t really seeing her. “Let’s go home.”

“She’s dead.”

“You didn’t do this.”

“I… I did!”

“No. This isn’t real.”

“I killed her.”

In the end, it’s only because Buffy’s in a state of shock that Faith manages to lead her home and put her to bed. She can feel Buffy’s pulse pounding wildly under the hand Faith keeps on her, but she can’t help remembering the long walk from Buffy’s grave, how cold she was, how empty.

##

It’s about two in the morning when Faith hears Buffy rouse quietly from her bed. Her face pulls a deep frown. She knew this would happen, but preparation doesn’t prevent the anger starting to simmer in her belly.

She rises from the couch and pads silently to the dining room so she can remain unseen, and listens. Sure enough, voices start to drift down from Dawn’s room, softly at first but increasing in volume.

“Dawnie, I have to.”

“But… what’s going to happen? To me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No... you’re not. You don't want to be here with me.”

“That is _not_ true.”

“You didn't wanna come back. I know that. You were happier where you were. You want to go away again.”

“Dawn –”

“Then go! Just go.”

##

Once Buffy walks out the front door, Faith follows, at a distance. She doesn’t want to fight at the house; she waits until they reach a deserted alley downtown before calling out, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Buffy spins. “Faith. Don’t do this.”

“If you think you’re going to the police, best forget it. What are you going to tell them?”

“I can’t hide from this, Faith! They’ll find it – find her. There’s a body, they’ll know –”

Faith stalks forward and grabs Buffy’s arm, gripping tight. “Is there?”

Buffy stares. “What did you do?”

“I took care of it.”

Buffy’s eyes narrow. “Like you did last time?”

That lands like a punch to the gut. “Hey. Everything… worked out,” Faith says around a grimace.

Buffy laughs bitterly. “Are you wanted in all 50 states or just this one?” When she doesn’t get a response, she says, “Let me go.”

“I can’t,” Faith says.

Buffy punches her then and Faith goes down, feeling the impact on her jaw almost belatedly. She maintains the grip on Buffy’s arm, and they both land on the pavement.

“I have to do this,” Buffy says, on the verge of tears, her voice breaking around the words.

A desperate, guttural sound rips out of Faith before she can stop it and she rolls, pinning Buffy beneath her. She’s so angry she’s seeing red at the edges of her vision. She thought she’d tamed that rage; maybe it’s just been festering inside her all along.

“Are you _fucking_ serious right now,” she scrapes out when she’s collected herself a little. Her chest is heaving with the effort of keeping up with her breathing. “All this time – all this time I’ve thought you were better than me. Turns out you’re just as selfish and cowardly as I am.”

Buffy, crying now, gasps aloud and struggles under her hands. Faith thinks distantly that Buffy is stronger, that Faith can’t hold her, that this struggle is only revealing how far gone she is.

“You killed Angel, and you ran,” Faith says. It feels like a ruthless, brutal thing to do, to tell her this, but she needs to.

Buffy gasps again and turns her head, avoiding Faith’s eyes.

“You ran away, and you hurt your friends. And I _get it_. I ran away, too. All I’ve ever done is run, until I went to prison.” _For you_ , she doesn’t add. “I just never had anyone to leave behind, like you do.” She digs her fingers into Buffy’s wrists. “Last summer.”

Buffy flinches and shakes her head back and forth, as if the movement will keep Faith’s words away from her.

“You jumped.”

“No. No, no –”

“Yeah, you did. You left them behind again. You left Dawn all alone. You _gave up_ ,” she spits.

“I had to.” Buffy’s voice is plain tive, as if begging for Faith’s understanding, for someone’s forgiveness. “There was no one else. I had to.”

“And now you’re the only one here for Dawn. You have to _stay_. Look at me.”

It takes a moment, but Buffy eventually turns her head back.

“It wasn’t real, Buffy. This wasn’t your fault, and you’re not gonna throw your life away over it. You can’t throw _Dawn’s_ life away! Ok?”

Buffy swallows, tears still in her eyes. “Can’t you understand why this is killing me?”

She’s unmoving under Faith’s hands now, pliant, and Faith sits back. “Buffy,” she says, and just looks at her. She strokes her thumbs across Buffy’s wrists. “Who could understand better than me?”

##

Faith puts Buffy back to bed, and sleeps on her floor, just in case.

##

They recount the events in the woods to Willow the next morning, who gets out her laptop and gleans the name “Katrina” from the police department’s records. Buffy’s eyes turn steely with recognition; she glances at Faith and then away.

At the Magic Box, Anya recognizes the demons they fought in the woods, and the puzzle pieces itself together.

“Warren,” Buffy says, and nothing is fixed yet but it will be. “We’ll find him.”

Faith cracks her knuckles in anticipation, and smiles.

(OLDER & FAR AWAY)

“I’m sorry,” Buffy is saying as Faith comes up from the basement.

“It’s ok,” Dawn says.

“No. We’re gonna sit down and have a real dinner, someday. I hate having to run out in the middle, it’s just, you know, there’s this thing out there. Definitely non-vampire.”

“What thing?” Faith says, and Buffy jumps a little.

“Big, red, weirdly hairy. West Cemetery. I’m all over it, though, don’t –”

“Nah,” Faith interrupts, grabbing the axe out of Buffy’s hands. “You stay with the kid, finish dinner. I’ll get this one.”

Buffy takes a breath. “Are you sure?”

Things have been a _little_ strained since Faith yelled about Buffy being a coward. For her own good! But it’s been a careful kind of tension rather than an angry kind, so Faith thinks they’ll get over it eventually. In the meantime, there are thoughtful glances and Buffy not telling Faith about demons and, also, demons being inconvenient during mealtimes, apparently.

It’s also Buffy’s birthday tomorrow. Faith doesn’t have plans, exactly, but she does have some hopes and potential scenarios.

“Thanks, Faith,” Dawn says, trying not to look overjoyed at being able to finish a meal with Buffy for once.

“No problem,” Faith says, tousling her hair on her way out the door.

##

The big, red, very weirdly hairy thing is a pain in the ass. It decimates Buffy’s ax immediately and then keeps disappearing and reappearing. Faith finally manages to grab its big shiny sword and stab it; it disappears again, but Faith is pretty sure it died first.

She takes the sword home, because, well. It’s so shiny.

##

Faith makes her way upstairs once Tara arrives to the party. Entering the dining room, she sees Buffy and Tara conferring in smiling whispers at the door.

“Oh!” Buffy says, seeing her approach. “The thing. I’ve got to –” and then Willow comes down the stairs, slowly, staring at Tara. “And you too!”

“Right,” Tara says absently, staring back at Willow. “The thing.”

Buffy heads toward the kitchen, inclining her head at Faith to follow and leave the other two alone.

“Happy b-day, B.”

Buffy turns and smiles. It lights up her face. Faith’s stomach does a swooping thing.

“So, who’s coming? You invite anyone else?” Xander asks as they enter the kitchen, where he and Anya are setting up snacks.

Buffy laughs. “Who else do I know?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re all over the new friend thing,” says Xander, and Anya grins at him.

“...What new friend thing?”

“Well,” Anya says. “We invited someone for you.” She looks at Xander, and then back at Buffy, and whispers, “A guy!”

Buffy groans, and catches Faith’s eye.

It turns out that Richard is very cute and very doe-eyed and very immediately smitten with Buffy, and Faith has to laugh a little, because he is so very soft. They would never work. It continues to surprise Faith how little Buffy’s friends know her.

Faith refuses to call him anything but Dick, all the same.

The evening slips along pleasantly enough, though Faith is bored out of her mind before they even get to cake. She occupies one of the chairs, sitting sideways and kicking her feet over an armrest, a growing pile of discarded snack plates on the floor in front of her.

When it comes time for presents, Buffy oohs and awes gratifyingly over the new, gleaming, and much sturdier axe Faith bought her. Willow gives her a very awkward massaging device and Faith is hard-pressed not to snicker aloud. Then Buffy opens a box Dawn hands her eagerly.

“Dawn,” she says, soft and startled at the leather jacket inside.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s – gorgeous.”

“I was so nervous. I was afraid you wouldn’t like it.”

Buffy picks up the sleeve, and turns to her in confusion. “It still has the security tag on it.”

Dawn drops her eyes. “Huh, that’s so weird. I can’t believe they didn’t take that off.”

Faith frowns, but Dawn is saved from any further questioning by Xander wheeling in a – beautiful, she grudgingly admits – handmade wooden chest.

The party wraps up at a decent hour, everyone overly full of cake and moving slowly. Richard’s puppy dog eyes were clearly hoping for more than the “Nice to meet you! Bye!” he gets from Buffy, but he takes it gracefully enough.

While Buffy helps Tara and Willow clean the kitchen, Dawn trails up the stairs to her room, and Faith follows. She taps at the open door before letting herself in.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Dawn says.

“So, I’m not one for beating around the bush,” Faith says, crossing her arms. “Let’s talk about your sticky finger problem.”

Dawn opens her mouth, but she must see in Faith’s face that a denial would be useless. She grits her teeth, instead. “I _really_ don’t feel like hearing a moral lecture from you.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Faith says around a false laugh. “I’m impressed.”

Dawn blinks. “You’re – Why?”

“I was never the subtle type. Lots of broken windows and running. But you’re clearly all sneak and finesse, which takes a different kind of guts.”

Dawn almost smiles.

“But you know I gotta tell your sister. How do you think she’s going to feel about it?”

There’s silence for a long moment. Then, “Do you have to? Tell her?”

Faith sighs, sitting beside her on the bed. Runs a hand through her hair. “Don’t see how I can’t. She’s responsible for you, you know. You might not like it, but the stuff you do reflects on her, too.”

A shaky inhale, and Dawn rubs her hand over her face. “And – and you can’t just – take it all back to the mall and apologize? Not like anyone can mess with you.”

“Just the mall?”

“...And the Magic Box,” Dawn mumbles.

“Well,” Faith says after a moment, “setting aside how risky it would be for me, a wanted criminal, to stroll into the mall with stolen merchandise, I can see how that would be easier on you.” Dawn shifts uncomfortably. “But I don’t think Anya would take it very well, or quietly. And I’m not so good with keeping secrets. And –”

Dawn looks at her.

Faith shrugs. “Keeping secrets from Buffy feels bad, these days.”

Dawn sighs. “Ok,” she agrees, and squares her shoulders. “Ok.”

Faith leans into her space with a smile, bumping her shoulder. “Cheer up. Can’t be worse than prison, right?”

“Right. Good to keep things in perspective.”

(AS YOU WERE)

Faith forgets about the sword she brought home until the next afternoon, which is unfortunate, as it was apparently housing and recuperating the demon she thought she’d killed. This time, Buffy snaps the sword in two after they stab it. Her eyes are bright and alert when she looks up at Faith, a little fight in her still, and she’s beautiful, and Faith grins wickedly.

They take the fight, so to speak, downstairs.

(HELL’S BELLS)

“So,” Buffy says one day. She’s smiling, chin resting on her folded arms where she’s laying half on top of Faith on the cot, their legs entwined, the sunshine from the basement window playing over her hair. The strands tickle a little where they brush against Faith’s skin.

Buffy has been bringing out these smiles gradually, and intentionally, like a test to see how much Faith can stand. Today’s is a notch or two up from the last. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel strange to have Buffy look at her like a friend, like something more or better than a friend. Sometimes it’s still jarring, but sometimes it’s just who they are. Faith realizes she’s adjusting to her open affection.

She thinks about blood diluting in water as it swirls down the drain of a shower; the sensation is a little like that.

“So,” Buffy says again, and now she’s grinning outright.

Faith supposes her attention has wandered, as it often does now when they’re alone together. “So?” she replies, keeping a straight face.

Things are changing between them, a little and slowly, but there are a few defense mechanisms Faith can’t help but cling to yet.

“ _So_ , Xander’s wedding is in a few days.”

“That’s… nice.”

“Yes!”

Faith notices that Buffy’s mouth has gone a little tight at the corners. A real smile, still, but an anxious one, maybe.

“And I was thinking, we should – well, I mean, if you wanted –”

There’s a knot in Faith’s throat suddenly. She tries to maintain an impassive expression, but her eyes are probably perfectly readable, intent on Buffy’s.

It hurts to swallow. She doesn’t understand how she can feel smothered and starved, both.

Buffy’s gaze skitters away. “– But of course you – and that’s fine! Besides, my dress, it’s so green and awful, it clashes with _anything_ , so I can’t be around anyone without casting a radioactive glow anyway, except Willow maybe, but she’s got the same dress so that – uh. Makes sense.” She looks up at the ceiling, takes a breath. “Um. How do you feel about Mexican?”

“Wait, what?”

Buffy buries her face in the crook of her elbow. “Never mind,” she mumbles.

##

There’s a flurry in the house the morning of the wedding. Anya slept over; Faith can hear her cooing from all the way downstairs.

Faith stays out of the way, which is easy, as everyone is upstairs anyway. She’s sitting at the kitchen island, eating cold pizza for breakfast, when the sound of trooping feet nears the stairs.

“Do we have everything?” Buffy calls.

“I think so?” Dawn says.

“Oh no, wait!” says Willow, running back up to her room.

“Oh, I’m just,” Anya says then. “So excited! Are we going? I want to get married now.”

“Yes, just – Where’s Faith?”

Buffy comes around into the kitchen, and Faith’s mouth falls open at the sight of her.

“Wow,” she says. “You did _say_ ‘radioactive’ and ‘dress’ in the same sentence, and I still wasn’t prepared.”

Buffy laughs. “Oh, don’t,” she says. “I’m a _bridesmaid_ , I’m supposed to not joke about the dress, probably.” She narrows her eyes at Faith. “Wait. Why aren’t _you_ dressed?”

“Pretty sure I’m wearing clothes. Did you want me to be less dressed?” Faith asks, grinning.

“Are you – you’re not dressed! We’re leaving now! Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Because… I’m not going?”

Buffy’s mouth wobbles. “You have to go!”

Dawn joins the kitchen. “Ugh, she’s not ready? I could have slept in.”

Buffy turns to her, pointing an accusing finger at Faith. “She says she’s not going!”

“What? I thought you guys –”

“Buffy, honestly,” Faith attempts. “Me, at a wedding? At _Xander’s_ wedding?”

“Oh, what is going on in here!” Anya cries as she scurries in, her voice pitched precariously high. “I’m getting married! Why aren’t we going?”

“Willow!” Buffy calls, and the response comes immediately.

“Yes! Sorry! I’m – here?” Willow stops, surveying the scene.

Faith shifts uncomfortably under their scrutiny, but rolls her eyes.

“You guys take Anya,” Buffy says. She takes a few steps and grabs Faith’s arm. “I’ll get _this_ one ready.”

“Buffy,” Faith laughs weakly as she’s dragged down the basement stairs. “I mean, I don’t even have anything to wear that’s not… you know. Me.”

Buffy stops. “Oh,” she says, and turns around, heading back up the stairs. Her hand doesn’t relinquish its hold on Faith’s wrist as she takes them up to her room instead.

She closes the door. “Don’t get any ideas,” she says when Faith arches an eyebrow, but there’s a wry smile playing on her face. She moves to her closet. “That’s so you don’t run away.”

“Do they even want me to be there, Buffy? I just – don’t –”

“Of course they do!” Buffy says, though she wilts a little under the look Faith gives her. “Well, I want you there.” She turns back to the closet and begins rummaging. “So you’re going. No more arguing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Faith murmurs. Buffy flashes a playful, blushing smile and goes back to digging. Faith sighs and tries a new tack. “You know I’m not going to fit into any of your clothes, right?”

“Oh, hush,” Buffy says, and emerges after another few moments with a simple black shift dress. She hands it to Faith. “The hazards of online shopping.”

Faith eyes it warily.

“It’ll be fine! You can even wear your boots – the less clunky ones. Maybe your jean jacket,” Buffy continues, glancing out the window. “It looks like it might rain.”

“But,” Faith says helplessly, and then, not having any other excuses or stalling tactics, sighs and starts to change. “I hope you know I’ve never been to a wedding. If I screw anything up, it’s all on you.”

“Just don’t punch any of the wedding guests, and you’ll be fine. Probably.”

“What if a demon shows up?”

“The demons are guests, too,” Buffy says with a roll of her eyes. “They’ll be on the bride’s side. Although I’ve never been to a wedding on the hellmouth. And I’ll stop that train of thought right there, before I jinx anything.”

She wrinkles her nose in concern. Faith wants to kiss her. “Sounds fun,” she says instead.

“God, no, are you kidding? It’s going to be awful. Weddings suck. Right up until the vows, and then I always cry. You can pretend not to know me when that happens.”

Faith laughs. “Why do you even want me there so bad, then?” she asks as she laces up her boots.

Buffy makes a little noise of frustration. Faith looks up in time to see her glance away, out the window, around the room, up at the ceiling. “You’re so dumb,” she says, and sighs around a smile. “Me too, though, with the talking. Bad at talking.”

“Uh, sorry? I’m a little... lost.”

“I know! Me too! Everyone said it was so _easy_ , just _say it_ ,” Buffy says with a mocking inflection. “‘ _Will you go out with me_ ,’ and then it’s done one way or the other –”

“Oh my god,” Faith says, a grin sliding onto her face.

“– But I’ve never had to ask anyone before! Oh, that sounds bad. I don’t – wanna be all cocky – it’s just that I –”

“Yeah,” Faith laughs, “No cock. That’s kind of the deal.”

“And you!” Buffy’s voice reaches an even higher pitch, her eyes still anywhere but Faith. “You’re so – dense!”

“ _I’m_ dense? B. I can’t believe you tried to ask me out – Me! The easiest girl you know! – and failed so hard. Finally, something I’m better at than you.” She steps into Buffy’s space and grasps her at the hips. Buffy’s gaze snaps to Faith’s, her mouth falling open in a fond outrage.

“What!” she splutters, as Faith walks her gently backward into a wall. “You never – when did you ever ask me out?”

“Holy shit.” Faith gives up and rests her forehead on Buffy’s shoulder, laughing into her collarbone. “Buffy. So many times.”

“Oh.” Faith looks up to see Buffy biting her lip, blushing deeply. “I hate you.”

“Mm.” Faith leans in a little further.

Buffy sighs. “I really want to kiss you right now, but –” She gestures at her face. “Can’t get all smeary.”

“Right.” Faith drops a few kisses below her ear instead, down her neck, on her collarbones. “Thank you,” she finds herself saying, and then can’t quite decide what she means.

“What for?”

Faith pauses, shrugs. “Just. Thanks.”

##

The trouble starts with Xander’s parents. The instant Faith meets them – his father’s eyes raking obstinately over her and Buffy – she feels her insides contract with tension. They so clearly loathe each other, and Faith can’t even find an instant to empathize with Xander. It takes everything she has to keep her mouth shut and her hands to herself.

It gets more and more familiar, though, the longer Mr. Harris spends at the bar. His voice grows steadily louder; he snipes across the room at his wife; he starts to pick fights with the other guests.

Faith stands in a corner, her arms crossed over her chest, and watches him. She wants to leave but finds herself unable to let him out of her sight. She keeps her back to the wall.

She left her parents behind so long ago. It seems unfair for their ghosts to suddenly make a reappearance in her life now, now that she’s started to make something of herself, to be someone true.

The Harrises are yelling at each other again, and it’s a horrible echo that’s threatening Faith at her very seams. Her hands shake. She walks out and doesn’t look back.

##

She just keeps walking, for a long time.

Faith intends to sneak back into the house while it’s empty, assuming joyful revelry will keep its occupants at the wedding. She considers staying out – but where else, really, would she go?

Walking up the drive, she can see the lights turned low in the living room window. She stops to breathe for a moment. She doesn’t divert to the kitchen door or the basement window, kept open out of habit. Her hands are steady, now, and she goes in through the front.

The low murmur of Buffy, Dawn and Willow’s conversation cuts off as Buffy says her name in soft surprise. “I looked for you,” she says. Faith runs a hand through her hair, exhales.

“Well,” Dawn says quietly. “Kind of a bummer night all around, so. I’m gonna head to bed.” Willow gets up after her and heads off with a weary parting smile.

Faith wonders whether she should leave, too, or if she’s meant to join Buffy on the couch.

“Are you ok?” Buffy asks. “Dawn said you looked upset when you left.”

“Yeah, I had to – get out of there. I’m really sorry for leaving.” She shakes her head. “I had to not be there.”

Buffy stands and comes close, peering into her face. “You should tell me about it,” she says, softly.

The urge to flee is intensifying, but Faith understands herself better these days. She can feel it clawing in her, this feeling that tells her safety lies elsewhere, to keep running; but there are cracks in it, now. Now she’s pretty sure that if she gave it voice, all the things behind her that let that feeling take root – if she forms words around those memories and lets them go, then maybe she can sit still.

God. She wants to be still, for a little while.

Buffy lays a hand on her arm. “Come on, upstairs,” she says. “Come tell me everything.”

(CODA)

When Sunnydale catches up to them, as it had to eventually, it steamrolls.

Faith remembers the feeling from after the deputy mayor – the sudden clarity of hindsight, seeing how all the pieces fell together to create one screeching moment of irrevocable change, and being powerless to do anything to stop or go back. This time it's Buffy with the chest wound, and Faith's heart is in her throat just like last time, but compounded.

This time Tara is the innocent bystander.

And when it's all over, when Willow collapses into sobs rather than resurrecting a famished darkness, peace seems so strange. Faith and Dawn and Buffy claw their way out of a hole into sunshine, and it's enough, for a moment, to just enjoy the small relief of it and breathe.

Later Buffy and Faith will quietly take each other apart in the filtered dark of Buffy's bedroom and breathe some more. The room will expand with the softness between them.

It will continue to surprise them, with decreasing intensity, that they can hold their history separate from what's in their hearts, until it exists only to illuminate their present. That they can love each other not only despite everything, but because of it.

And later still, weeks or months, when they both wake short of breath in the same bed, they will look at each other.

"Vision," Buffy will say.

"Yeah." Faith will set her shoulders. "They're in trouble, aren't they?"

Buffy will entwine their fingers together and lean in. The kiss will be steadying and sure. "We'll help them."

Sunlight will glance over the bed, and Faith will smile. She knows.

_2 girls kissing on a  
porch in summer, hold  
their hands to their own chests,   
feel the air beat  
in time to the quiet hum:_  
alive, alive,  
alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this last part is a bit shorter. i initially intended to follow this through to the end of the season, but honestly, after 'hell's bells' there's not much else that changes. buffy & faith have reached the point in their relationship that they've been building toward, and outside events are essentially as they are in canon. also, frankly, i had zero desire to live through tara's death again.
> 
> anyway!! i had fun with this and hope it was enjoyable perhaps. <3


End file.
